THE FRIENDSHIPS OF WOMEN. 

THEFRIENDSHIPS OF WOMENBYWILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER. 

A GENTLE BUSINESS AND BECOMINGTHE ACTION OF GOOD WOMEN. Shakespeare. 

BOSTON:ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1868. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867 byWILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Courtof the District of Massachusetts. 

CAMBRIDGE:STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON. 

TOANNA CABOT LODGE, A TRUE AND GENEROUS FRIEND, THIS BOOKIS INSCRIBED WITH THE DEEPEST SENTIMENTS OF ESTEEMAND GRATITUDE

PREFACE. 

A STATEMENT of the facts in which this book began may gratify thecuriosity of some of its readers. 

While gathering materials for a History of Friendship, I was oftenstruck both by the small number of recorded examples of the sentimentamong women, which were discovered in my researches, and by thecommonness of the expressed belief, that strong natural obstaclesmake friendship a comparatively feeble and rare experience with them. Spurred by further thought, as well as by many talks, I kept onexploring the subject. At length, so much matter was mustered that Idetermined to insert in my work a distinct chapter on the Friendshipsof Women. Still the subject grew in interest for me, and the bulk ofhistoric illustration swelled beyond the size of a chapter. Then Idecided to make a little treatise of it by itself. 

The principle and sentiment of friendship deserve a much larger shareof the attention given, alike in the life and the literature of ourtime, to the passion of love. One would infer from most of thepopular writings of the day, that love is the only emotion worthy ofnotice. But surely there are in human nature other feelings, whichdemand far more culture than they generally receive, feelings whichreally play an important part in human life, and which ought to playa still more important part. Am I deceived in thinking, that, inparticular, the place of friendship in the Live; of women is asubject which, if soundly discussed, and set forth with mastery andsympathy, may give precious guidance, comfort, and inspiration tothousands of embittered and languishing souls? Will not the largenumber, who are denied the satisfactions of impassioned love, begrateful for a book which shows them what rich and noble resourcesthey may find in his widely different, though closely kindred, sentiment? Is not such a book especially needed at he present time?

In method of treatment, I have, without neglecting moral analysis orreflective exposition, even greater prominence to biographicnarrative, living presentation of instances from which the reader maydraw the befitting lessons of the topic, and apply them for personalprofit. Poetry, it has been said, is balm on the wounds of non-fulfilment in our lives. When our own experience and imagination arewanting in that balm, we must borrow it from others. If we muse, withopen heart, on the enthusiastic dreams and fruitions of more richlyimpassioned or more happily placed natures, the contagious glow oftheir affections may enkindle ours. This is one of the highest usesof art, a use which puts on artists the duty of setting before theirpatrons sights of righteousness and bliss, trust and peace, ratherthan sights of wretchedness, wrangling, doubt, and error. 

In conjoined importance and interest, to those who have a taste forit, no other study can compare with the study of human nature andhuman experience, as illustrated in individual examples. If thestudents are curious as to the secrets of greatness, and are emulousof excellence, the attraction is enhanced when they deal with personsof extraordinary powers and careers. It then becomes fascinating. Beautiful and noble characters can find nothing so enchanting as abeautiful and noble character. It was truly said by Vauvenargues, "Sooner or later, we enjoy only souls. " These pages will presentportrayals of a large number of charming souls, with accounts oftheir happiest experiences. For our poor human heart, there willalways be a bewitchment about the memories of those persons who wereeither remarkable for their power of drawing affection or weresignalized by their enjoyment of the boon. Many a rare character, otherwise long ago consumed in the alembic of time, will longcontinue to be fondly singled out and studied. So when the famousMarchioness of Salisbury was accidentally burned to death, theSkeleton was known as hers only by the jewels with which she had beendecked. 

It may be dangerous to overlook ignorantly what is false and hatefulin society; but it is pernicious to pick out such objects forexclusive or permanent scrutiny. The most wholesome results arelikely to be secured by the fastening of our attention prevailinglyon what is true and fair and blessed in our fellow-beings. Such achoice will commend itself to the best spirits; for, while it is thespontaneous movement of a mean nature to contract and swoop, agenerous nature prefers to expand and soar. The vulture pounces onrottenness with a cry of obscene satisfaction; but the lark seeks thesunrise with a song of worship. So let the ingenuous mind, studyinghuman character and life, bestow a shunning glance at evil, a fixedgaze on good. So, should any one wish to write a history of theenmities of women, for which, doubtless, the materials are ample, Iwillingly yield him the task, appropriating only the privilege ofdoing justice to their friendships. 

In the present volume, my first and constant purpose has been boldlyto state the truth just as it is, to do justice to the facts of thesubject. My second purpose has been to be of use, to give help andcomfort. In whatever degree poetry and ideal sentiment may beaccompaniments, neither of them has in any sense been made an aim ofthe work. While freely allowing his mind to shine into his pen, andhis heart to flow through it, the writer has adopted every precautionto prevent or correct all those refractions of ignorance andprejudice, and all that coloring of morbid sentimentality, whichwould stand in the way of truth and use. In treating such a theme asfriendship, the worst dangers are hardness and levity on the oneextreme, exaggeration and mawkishness on the other, and cowardice andsqueamishness between. These faults, it is hoped, are not chargeableon the following pages. 

This book is a book of goodness. It is devoted to the nurture ofthose benign virtues which it so plainly shows waiting on and winningthe best beauty and joy of the world. Small causes can bring aboutgreat effects, when time and facts conspire to help them. A cocoanut, tossed by the waves into a little sand on a rock amidst the ocean, has been known to strike root, and to form the centre of a luxuriantisland of palms. Unable to look for any such striking result from theinfluence of this work, I shall be happy, indeed, if the power of theexamples to which I have here given voice shall demonstrate the otherside of the deep thought penned by Shakespeare: One good deed, dyingtongueless, Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

HAVE WOMEN NO FRIENDSHIPS?

FRIENDSHIP INSIDE AND OUTSIDE THE TIES OF BLOOD

FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN PARENTS AND CHILDREN

FRIENDSHIPS OF MOTHERS AND SONS

Cornelia and the Gracchi. Olympias and Alexander. Monica and Augustine. John Quincy Adams and His Mother. Goethe and his Mother. The Humboldts and their Mother. Guizot and his Mother. 

FRIENDSHIPS OF DAUGHTERS AND FATHERS

Tullia and Cicero. Margaret Roper and Sir Thomas More. Agnes and William Wirt. Mary and John Evelyn. Theodosia and Aaron Burr. Maria and Richard Edgeworth. Madame de Staël and Necker. Letitia Landon and her Father. 

FRIENDSHIPS OF SISTERS AND BROTHERS

Narcissus and his Reflection. Electra and Orestes. Antigone and Polynices. Diana and Apollo. Scholastica and Benedict. Cornelia and Tasso. Margaret and Francis. Mary and Sir Philip Sidney. Catherine and Robert Boyle. Caroline and William Herschel. Letitia and John Aikin. Cornelia and Goethe. Lena and Jacobi. Lucile and Chateaubriand. Charlotte and Schleiermacher. Dorothy and Wordsworth. Augusta and Byron. Mary and Charles Lamb. Fanny and Felix Mendelssohn. Whittier and his Sister. Eugénie and Maurice de Guérin. 

FRIENDSHIPS OF WIVES AND HUSBANDS. 

Count and Countess del Verme. Lady and Sir James Mackintosh. Aspasia and Pericles. Portia and Brutus. Arria and Pertus. Paulina and Seneca. Calpurnia and Pliny. Timoxena and Plutarch. Castara and Habington. Faustina and Zappi. Jeanne and Roland. Caroline and Herder. Lucy and John Hutchinson. Sarah and John Austin. Elizabeth and Robert Browning. Leopold Schefer and his Wife. John Stuart Mill and his Wife. Lady and Lord William Russell. Artemisia and Mausolus. Moomtaza and Jehan. 

PLATONIC LOVE; THE MARRIAGE OF SOULS

Relative Prevalence of Vice in our day. Moral Influence of Friendships between Men and Women. Analysis of Platonic Love. Laura and Petrarch. Beatrice and Dante. Heloise and Abelard. Danger and Safety of Platonic Love. Countess Matilda and Hildebrand. The "Woldemar" of Jacobi. Influence of Chivalry in developing Friendships of Men and Women. Causes of Prominent Social Position of Women in France. Friendships in Catholic Church between Women and their Directors. Olympias and Chrysostom. Paula and Jerome. Clara and Francis of Assissi. Chantal and Francis of Sales. Guion and Lacombe. La Maisonfort and Fenelon. Cornuau and Bossuet. Theresa and John of the Cross. The Friendship of Vittoria Colonna and Michael Angelo. Mademoiselle de Scudéry and Pélisson. Madame de Sévigné and Corbinelli. Madame de la Fayette and Rochefoucauld. Madame du Deffand and D'Alembert. Mademoiselle Lespinasse and D'Alembert. Madame de Staël and Montmorency. Magdalen Herbert and Dr. Donne. Lady Masham and John Locke. Mary Unwin and Cowper. Mrs. Clive and Garrick. Hannah More and Langhorne. Joanna Baillie and Sir Walter Scott. Duchess of Devonshire and Fox. Duchess of Gordon and Dr. Beattie. Charlotte and Humboldt. Bettine and Goethe. Goethe's Treatment of Women in his Life and in his Works. Princess of Homburg and Marchioness di Barolo and	Silvio Pellico. Isabel Fenwick and Wordsworth. Harriet Martineau and Channing. Lucy Aikin and Channing. Frances Power Cobbe and Theodore Parker. Friendships of Women and their Tutors. Zenobia and Longinus. Countess of Pembroke and Daniel. Princess Elizabeth and Descartes. Caroline of Brunswick and Leibnitz. Lady Jane Grey and Elmer. Elizabeth Robinson and Middleton. Hester Salusbury and Dr. Collier. Blanche of Lancaster and Chaucer. Venetia Digby and Ben Jonson. Countess of Bedford and Ben Jonson. Countess Ranelagh and Milton. Duchess of Queensbury and Gay. Relations with Women, of Sophocles, Virgil, 	Frauenlob, BernadinSt. Pierre, Rousseau, and Jean Paul Richter. Rahel Levin and her Friendships with Men. Madame Récamier and her Friendships with Men. Elizabeth Barrett, Hugh Stuart Boyd, and John Kenyon. Clotilde de Vaux and Auguste Comte. Madame Swetchine and her Friendships with Men. 

FRIENDSHIPS OF MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS

Madame de Sévigné and Madame de GrignanMadame de Rambouillet and Julie d'AngenneMrs. Browne and Felicia Hemans. Naomi and Ruth. 

FRIENDSHIPS OF SISTERS

Dido and Anna. Hannah and Martha More. Mary and Agnes Berry. Charlotte, Anne, and Emily Bronte. Joanna and Agnes Baillie. 

FRIENDSHIPS OF WOMAN WITH WOMAN

Treatment of Female Friendship in Literature. School-girl Friendships. Friendships in Conventual Life. Jeanne Philippon and Angélique Boufflers. Agnes Arnauld and Jacqueline Pascal. Madame de Longueville and Angélique Arnauld. Friendships between Queens and their Maids of Honor. Sakoontali and Anastiya. Marie de Medicis and Eleanora Galigäi. Queen Philippa and Philippa Picard. Lady Jane Beaufort and Catherine Douglas. Mary Stuart and her Four Marys. Queen Elizabeth and her Attendants. Queen Anne and Sarah Jennings. Marie Antoinette and the Princess de Lamballe. Queen Hortense and Madame de Faverolles. 

PAIRS OF FEMALE FRIENDS

Beatrice Portinari and Giovanna. Dorothea Sydney and Sophia Murray. Katherine Phillips and Regina Collier. Elizabeth Rowe and the Countess of Hertford. Countess of Pomfret and Countess of Hertford. Lady Harley and Mrs. Montague. Hannah More and Mrs. Garrick. Elizabeth Carter and Catherine Talbot. Charlotte Smith and Lady O'Niel. Anna Seward and Honora Sneyd. The Countess of Northesk and Anna Seward. Eleanor Butler and Sarah Ponsonby, 	the Ladies of Llangollen. Fanny Burney and Mrs. Thrale. Günderode and Bettine Brentano. Miss Benger and Lucy Aikin. Lucy Aikin and Joanna Baillie. Mrs. Hemans and Miss Jewshury. Mary Mitford and Mrs. Browning. Madame de Staid and Madame Récamier. Madame Swetchine and the Countess Edling. Countess D'Ossoli and the Marchioness Arconati. The Duchess of Orleans and her Lady Companion. 

THE NEEDS AND DUTIES OF WOMAN IN THIS AGE

Evils and Defects of Society and their Remedy. The Ideal of Marriage. Public Life versus Domestic Life. Caste: Diminution of its Influence. The Common Destiny, and the Peculiar Destiny, of Woman. Life in the Harems of the East. Right of Woman to every form of Education and Labor. Grounds of the exclusion of Women from Public LifeThe Right of Women to engage in Politics. The Inexpediency of their doing soImpartial Consideration of both sides of the Question. Morality, eternal; Politics, temporary. Gradual historic Emancipation of Woman. Comparative Condition of Woman in the Oriental, the Classic, the early Christian, and the Modern World. Relation of Mohammed and of Jesus to Women. Light thrown on the Condition of Women in Greece by theHistory of Sappho. Sentiment of Chivalry towards Woman. Woman ennobled by sharing in great public Interests. Decline of Letter-writing in our day. Duty of Women to cultivate Conversation. Duty of Women to cultivate the art of Manners. Value of model Types of Women. Disinterestedness, the Redemption of Man. Woman as seen in Mythology. Conclusion of the matter. Friendship in the Future. 

THE FRIENDSHIPS OF WOMEN. 

INTRODUCTION. 

THE peculiar mission of woman, it has been said, is to be a wife andmother. Is it not as truly the peculiar mission of man to be ahusband and father? If she is called to add to the happiness andworth of her husband, he is called to add to the happiness and worthof his wife. They are alike bound to protect and educate theirchildren. And the other duties, the private improvement of self andthe public improvement of society rest on them in common. Theassertion, then, that the distinctive Office of woman is to be thehelpmeet of man, does not imply that she ought to be legally ormorally any more subservient to him than he to her; for the supremeduty of a woman, as of every other human being, is, through theperfecting of her own nature as a child of God, to fulfil herpersonal destiny in the universe. To love, to marry, to rear afamily, is by no means an entire statement of the obligations andprivileges of women: because no woman always has lover, husband, orchildren; many fail to have all of them in succession; and a fewnever have either of them. 

In some of these cases the domestic appointment of woman is defeated;but her personal destiny may still De achieved. The qualities of hersoul and the fruitions of her life, as a free individual, may beperfected in spite of this relative mutilation in her lot. Thegrowing desire in our time for show and luxury, the increase of theexcitements of publicity, the sensational literature of fiction, which is absorbing an ever-larger share of attention from the moresensitive portion of the feminine public, these causes areconcentrating an undue interest on the passion of love. It is thealmost exclusive theme of plays, novels, poems. One consequence is anexaggeration of the part that should be played by this sentiment inthe experience of the individual. It comes to be the engrossingsubject of regard. Life is considered a failure, unless it containslove, followed by marriage; yet it must often be deprived of thisexperience. In the most civilized countries, especially in theirbrilliant capitals, a higher and higher ratio of women miss of happylove and marriage. 

There never were many morally baffled, uneasy, and complaining womenon the earth as now; because never before did the capacities ofintelligence and affection so greatly exceed their gratifications. New perceptions are the scouts of fresh desires; fresh desiresprecede their own fulfilment: a just reconciliation is a slow, historic process. The lives of a multitude of women all around uscontain a large element of unsuccessful outward or inward ambitions, vain attempts and prayers. This drives them back upon themselves, into a deeper and sadder seclusion than that naturally imposed bytheir housekeeping and their historic withdrawment from the bustlingbusinesses of the world. In that silent retirement, in thousands ofinstances, a tragedy not less severe than unobtrusive is enacted, thetragedy of the lonely and breaking heart. An obscure mist of sighsexhales out of the solitude of women in the nineteenth century. Theproportionate number of examples of virtuous love, completing itselfin marriage, will probably diminish, and the relative examples ofdefeated or of unlawful love increase, until we reach some new phaseof civilization, with better harmonized social arrangements, arrangements both more economical and more truthful. In the meantime, every thing which tends to inflame the exclusive passion oflove, to stimulate thought upon it, or to magnify its imaginedimportance, contributes so much to enhance the misery of itswithholding or loss, and thus to augment an evil already lamentablyextensive and severe. 

Now, the most healthful and effective antidote for the evils of anextravagant passion is to call into action neutralizing orsupplementary passions; to balance the excess of one power bystimulating weaker powers, and fixing attention on them; to assuagedisappointments in one direction by securing gratifications inanother. Accordingly, the offices of friendship in the lives ofwomen, lives often so secluded, impoverished, and self-devouring, isa subject of emphatic timeliness; promising, if properly treated, toyield lessons of no slight practical value. This vein of sentimenthas suffered unmerited neglect among us. No other vein of sentimentin human nature, perhaps, has so much need to be cherished. In thelives of women, friendship is, First, the guide to love; apreliminary stage in the natural development of affection. Secondly, it is the ally of love; the distributive tendrils and branches to theroot and trunk of affection. Thirdly, it is, in some cases, thepurified fulfilment and repose into which love subsides, or rises. Fourthly, it is, in other cases, the comforting substitute for love. A just display of these points, in the light of an accurate analysis, aided by the appropriate learning, can hardly fail to repay the studyit will require. The insight into the nature and the working of theaffections, to be secured by a careful study of the subject, shouldbe a precious acquisition of knowledge easily convertible into power. The activity of the sympathies enkindled by tracing the biographicalsketches of a large number of the richest and most winsome examplesof feminine friendship preserved for us in history, should bestow arare pleasure. And the plain directions to be deduced from thediscussion and the narratives should furnish a store of instructionfor the wiser guidance of personal experience. 

The writer, as he is about to intrust his book upon that current ofliterature which flows by the doors of all the intelligent, bearingits offerings to their hands, is quite aware that the subject of therights and the wrongs, the joys and the griefs, the hopes and thefears, the duties and the plans, belonging to the outer and innerlife of womankind in the present age, happens just now to be one ofthe chief matters of popular interest and agitation. This, however, has had no influence in leading him to treat the subject. It has longbeen in his mind. He has been drawn to investigate it and write on itsimply by its intrinsic attractions for him. But the extent andearnestness with which the public mind is preoccupied by the socialand political discussions of the theme, going on in all quarters, much increase the difficulty of treating it, as is here proposed, from the scholarly, moral, and experimental point of view, withperfect candor and calmness, and with a careful avoidance ofprejudices, exaggerations, and declamatory appeals. Demagogues andpartisans, who seek personal notoriety or other ends of privatepassion, naturally try to produce effect by the use of pungentepigrams, overstrained trifles, extravagant views, and sophisticalarguments, fitted to play on the biases, piques, and ignorances ofthose whose attention they can gain. All this obviously adds to thehardness of the task imposed on him who would steer clear of everyextremity, and keep in the golden mean of truth and use. 

Such a one is also least likely to secure popular praise. The extremeconclusions, peppery rhetoric, and passionate declamation of theleaders on both sides, who aim at sensation and victory, are surestto awaken the enthusiasm of the extremists, who always direct theadmiring gaze of heir parasites to the favorite representatives oftheir own party, their scorn to the favorite representatives of theother party. But under such circumstances, by is much as themoderation of impartiality and of a patient search for the exacttruth is hard to be kept, an unlikely to win popularity, it is themore a duty, and the surer to bear good fruits of service to thepublic. There is a fashionable habit of laughing or sneering at theillusions of the young, a habit usually mistimed and injurious. Foran illusion is as real as a truth. Every phenomenon implies truth, however incorrectly t may be understood. An illusion is, in fact, buta reality misinterpreted. Harmless, joy-breeding illusions are themagic coloring of our existence. They should be cultivated ratherthan rudely driven away. 

The dry critic who daily labors, and with success, to destroy them, may be knowing; but he is not wise. Every seeming acquisition reallyimpoverishes him. The noble Mendelssohn once said, "Life withoutillusions is only death. " The illusions of high and guileless heartsare the blessed hopes created by generous faiths fastening on thebetter aspects of truth. They are to our experience what thetremulous iridescence is to the neck of the dove. To allow, as wegrow old, a sinister gaze at the sterner aspects of truth to banishthese rich and kindly illusions, is a wretched folly, however much itmay dress itself as wisdom. There are lures and deceits, enchantingat an early period, which, at a later one, ought to be outgrown, seenthrough and left behind, but not with arid and scoffing conceit. Theway to escape sadness, when the light of one beautiful promise afteranother goes out, is to kindle in place thereof the light of oneglorious reality after another. If the gathered experience we carryat evening renders worthless many things we prized in the morning, itshould also give preciousness to many things unvalued then. 

When the fallen torch of ambition has smouldered into blackness, weought to make the eternal star of religion our guide. To takespiritual treasures away without replacing them by better ones isrobbery. The cynical authors who deal chiefly in ridicule and satire, or in what they call solid facts, the alternate levity and bitternessof whose writings tend to destroy all ingenuous faith and glowingaffection, all magnanimous sympathies and hopes, seem to me to beengaged in as miserable a business as those African hunters who trainfalcons to dart on gazelles, and pick out their beautiful eyes. Theillusiveness of life that results from teeming love and trust is as amist of gold sifted into the atmosphere, through which all theobjects of our regard loom, colossal and glittering. As we advance inyears, we should indeed learn to recognize, and make allowance for, this refraction and these tints, but without ceasing to enjoy thebeautiful aggrandizement they bestow. When there is danger that acharacter will melt into a mere mush of ungirt feelings, theastringent and bracing use of satire is fit. The application of afleecing nonchalance or of a jibing scorn to a soul of strong andardent sentiment, is unfit. A certain divinity should hedge everymanifestation of trustful affection, even though it be misjudged. Itis for the most part profane to scoff an overstretched or misplacedadmiration: it calls rather for a considerate instruction which shalltenderly set it right. 

It is insipidity of the feelings that gives rise to sentimentality, as, when the tongue is disordered, we are always trying it. The cureof that insipidity is to direct upon it the energy of an objectiveearnestness, a current of positive faith and love. No negativetreatment, of indifference or of contempt, can avail. Sentimentality, frozen under the cutting breath of derision, resembles that loathsomeice-lake of poison in the Scandinavian hell. Sentimentality, fired bythe glorious contagion of self-forgetful admiration and loyalty, israised into sentiment, or even divinized into enthusiasm. The authorwill devote his best endeavor to do justice to both sides of thesubject treated in his book, taking warning from the partisans whofix an exclusive attention on that aspect of it which theyrespectively prefer. He will try to set down such true thoughts insuch a pure spirit, as, instead of drying up in his readers thesprings of generous faith, and disenchanting them of all romanticexpectation, will leave them at the end with a higher estimate of theworth of human nature and of the sweetness of human life. 

Ever so correct a perception of what we despise and detest leaves ourmoral rank undetermined; but the measure of what we love and admireis the measure of our own worth. It should never be forgotten, thatthe most delicate and enduring pleasures we enjoy are those we give. It should always be remembered, that, while the proud demand honor, and the humble seek sympathy, there is a self-respectful affection, neither haughty nor cringing, which will always earn honor, but neverstop to ask it, always enjoy sympathy, but never be dependent on it. This whole book is a demonstration of the truth, that, however muchwoman may need deliverance from some outward trials and disabilities, her grand want is a freer, deeper, richer, holier, inward life. Lether, if she so please, reach out for the ballot, enter on a largerrange of work and responsibility. But let her not be blind to thetruth, that her foremost, weightiest need is a more thoroughintellectual possession and moral fulfilment of herself, leading to acloser union with friends and an absolute surrender to God. The justformula for the aims of woman, as it seems to me, is neither, on theone hand, limitation to domestic life; nor, on the other hand, devotion to public life as an end; but, dedication to the duties andjoys of family and social life, and to the nurture of the personalinner life, as the true ends, and a free participation in the grandinterests of public life, as a means of purifying the domestic andthe inner life from selfish littlenesses, and enriching theexperience of the individual with the wide obligations and hopes ofhumanity at large. Not domestic life alone; not public life alone;not merely domestic life and public life together; but domestic lifeand public life, for the sake of the personal inner life, purifiedand aggrandized by the ideal appropriation of the essentialexperience and progress of the whole world. 

This, with such allowances as the distinction of sex really requires, should be the aim of every woman as well as of every man. If thisview be correct, it is plain how great and vital an interest it givesto the theme of the present work; the friendship of women; since thevery ground and gist of a noble friendship is the cultivation incommon of the personal inner lives of those who partake in it, theirmutual reflection of souls and joint sharing of experience incitingthem to a constant betterment of their being and their happiness. 

HAVE WOMEN NO FRIENDSHIPS?

SOME men think women unfitted for friendship. Feminine hearts are socomplex, changeable, elusive, that the belief has had great currencyamong themselves as well as with their critics. In comparing the twosexes in this particular, many persons commit a gross error byoverlooking the fact that there are all kinds and degrees of femininecharacters, not less than of masculine. When Heine says, "I will notaffirm that women have no character; rather they have a new one everyday, " he means precisely what Pope meant by the famous couplet in hispoem on the Characters of Women:

Nothing so true as what you once let fall, Most women have no characters at all. 

This want of character is held by many thoughtful men for whatColeridge asserted it to be, the perfection of a woman; astastelessness proves the purity of water; transparency, that ofglass. Plausible ground for this view is furnished by the fact, thatthe perfection of fine and noble manners the peculiar province offeminine genius consists in the absence of egotism, in that chasteand lustrous exuberance of sympathetic joy which results from theopposite of all personal domination; namely, spontaneous obedience tothe whole law of duty. Nevertheless, the opinion is unsound; partlyuntrue, partly inadequate. It results from the despotic selfhood ofman, who wishes not to reflect another, but only to be reflected. Theabsence of fixed individuality makes one a readier mirror; and man, as the historic master, desires the woman who confronts him to be, atleast apparently, the yielding subject of his will. But since womanis an independent being, endowed with a separate responsibleness, shehas a distinct personal destiny to fulfil as much as he has, andshould be granted an equal freedom of individuality. 

The perfection of a woman in the sight of God is one thing: herirresistible charmingness to selfish man may be quite another thing. If the latter requires a soft compliance, involving the absence ofwill, the former is not irreconcilable with the firmest constancy ofindividual traits; and, in fact, women can no more be lumped togetherin level community, either by positives or by negatives, than men canbe. Those differ from each other as widely as these do. Accuracy ofthought has seldom been more recklessly offered up to pungency ofexpression than in the above-cited aphorism of Pope. There is anample variety of tenacious womanly characters between the extremesmarked by Miriam beating her timbrels, and Cleopatra applying theasp; Cornelia showing her Roman jewels, and Guyon rapt in God;Lucrezia Borgia raging with bowl and dagger, and Florence Nightingalesweetening the memory of the Crimean war with philanthropic deeds. What group of men indeed can be brought together, more distinct inindividuality, more contrasted in diversity of traits and destiny, than such women as Eve in the Garden of Eden, Mary at the foot of thecross, Rebecca by the well, Semiramis on her throne, Ruth among thecorn, Jezebel in her chariot, Lais at a banquet, Joan of Arc inbattle, Tomyris striding over the field with the head of Cyrus in abag of blood, Perpetua smiling on the lions in the amphitheatre, Martha cumbered with much service, Pocahontas under the shadow of thewoods, Saint Theresa in the convent, Madame Roland on the scaffold, Mother Agnes at Port Royal, exiled De Staël wielding her pen as asceptre, and Mrs. Fry lavishing her existence on outcasts!

In searching for the friendships of women, it is difficult at firstto find striking examples. Their lives are so private, theirdispositions are so modest, their experiences have been so littlenoticed by history, that the annals of the feminine heart are for themost part a secret chapter. But a sufficiently patient search willcause a beautiful multitude of such instances to reveal themselves. Nothing, perhaps, will strike the literary investigator of thesubject more forcibly than the frequency with which he meets theexpressed opinion, that women really have few or no friendships; thatwith them it must be either love, hate, or nothing. A writer in oneof our popular periodicals has recently ventured this dogmaticassertion: "If the female mind were not happily impervious to logic, we might demonstrate, even to its satisfaction, that the history ofthe sex presents no single instance of a famous friendship. " Beforewe get through our work, we shall meet with abundant confutations ofthis rash and uncomplimentary statement. 

Swift says, "To speak the truth, I never yet knew a tolerable womanto be fond of her own sex. " The statement, if taken with too wide ameaning, might have been refuted by the sight, under his eyes, of thecordial and life-long affection of Miss Johnson and Lady Gifford, thesister of Sir William Temple. He could not expect a Stella and aVanessa to be friends: an exclusive love for a common objectinevitably made them deadly rivals. But the author of "Gulliver'sTravels" was a keen observer; his maxims have always a basis in fact;and it is undoubtedly true that women of exceptional clevernessprefer the wit, wisdom, and earnestness of the more cultivatedmembers of the other sex to the too frequent ignorance and trivialityof their own. Undoubtedly, in most societies, women of unusual geniusand accomplishments can more easily find congenial companionship withmen than with women. But to infer from this any naturalincompatibility for friendships between women is to draw a monstrousinference, wholly unwarranted by the premises. In the sensiblechapter of "A Woman's Thoughts about Women, " which Miss Mulochdevotes to this subject, she says, "The friendships of women are muchmore common than those of men; but rarely or never so firm, so just, or so enduring. " But then she proceeds, justly, though with a littleinconsistency, to say, "With women these relations may besentimental, foolish, and fickle; but they are honest, free fromsecondary motives of interest, and infinitely more respectable thanthe time-serving, place-hunting, dinner-seeking devotion whichMessrs. Tape and Tadpole choose to denominate friendship. " That thesharper and sincerer feelings of women make them more capable thanmen of sacrificing their interests to their passions, less likely tosacrifice their passions to their interests, and that they are moreabsorbed by their sympathies and antipathies, admits of no question. 

Eugénie de Guérin, a woman of the rarest heart and soul, wrote in herjournal, a few years ago, this passage, which has already grownfamous: "I have ever sought a friendship so strong and earnest thatonly death could break it; a happiness and unhappiness which I had, alas! in my brother Maurice. No woman has been, or will be, able toreplace him; not even the most distinguished has been able to give methat bond of intelligence and of tastes, that broad, simple, andlasting relation. There is nothing fixed, enduring, vital, in thefeelings of women; their attachments to each other are so many prettybows of ribbons. I notice these light affections in all femalefriends. Can we not, then, love each other differently? I neitherknow an example in history nor am acquainted with one in the present. Orestes and Pylades have no sisters. It makes me impatient, when Ithink of it, that you men have something in your hearts which iswanting to us. In return we have devotedness. " It is striking tonotice the identity of sentiment here with that in the maxim of LaBruyere: "In love women exceed the generality of men, but infriendship we have infinitely the advantage. "

With reference to the statement that "Orestes and Pylades have nosisters, " besides the superfluous disproofs of it contained in thepages that follow, it is an interesting fact that classic literatureaffords one example, which modern writers have never, to myknowledge, noticed. Pausanias, in his "Description of Greece, " tenthbook, twenty-ninth chapter, gives an recount of an elaborate paintingby Polygnotus of the underworld, the scenery and fate of the dead inthe future state. Among the images of the departed set forth on thecanvas were two women, Chloris and rhyia, locked in a fond embrace. Of these two women, thus shown eternally united in the realm beyondhe grave, Pausanias says that they were a pair of friendsextraordinarily attached to each other in life. Their story is lost. The imagination of womankind might compensate for the missingnarrative, and make the names of Chloris and Thyia live with thelames of Damon and Pythias. 

Let us sift the grounds of the opinion that women ire relativelyincapable of friendship, analyze the appearances on which it rests, and separate the truth in it from the error. 

The first fact of the subject is, that women are naturally lessselfish and more sympathetic than men. 

They have more affection to bestow, greater need of sympathy, andtherefore are more sure, in the absence of love, to seek friendship. The devastating egotism of man is properly foreign to woman; thoughthere are many women as haughty, hard, and imperious as any man. Butthese are unfeminine, despite their sex. There are women who seemcold and beautiful stones, their hearts icicles, their tears frozengems pressed out by injured pride. On the other hand, there are menas soft, as modest, as celestially sympathetic, as almost any woman. Still, the cardinal contrast holds, that women are self-forgetful, men self-asserting; women hide their surplus affection under afeigned indifference; men hide their indifference under a feignedaffection. Of course, in this comparison, depraved women areexcluded: these are generally far more heartless and calculating thanmen. The aphorism of Rochefoucauld "In their first passion, womenlove the lover; in their subsequent ones, they love love" isdescriptive, not of women, but of that class of women who cherish asuccession of lovers, a class familiar to the base and brilliantFrench aphorist. With such, the venal commonness of affection firstprofanes, then destroys it. 

It is a pathetic sign of the diviner nature of women, that theyconceal sorrow more easily than joy, while men conceal joy moreeasily than sorrow. The lover of Adelaide de Comminge having joined aconvent of Trappists, she followed him thither, disguised as a man, took the vows, and was not recognized by him until on her death-bed. Man is not capable of such pure devotion: only a woman could thusforbear, and be content with the secret joy of the beloved presence. Man demands action: woman demands emotion. Friendship between twoyouths is martial, adventurous, a trumpet-blast or a bugle-air:friendship between two girls is poetic, contemplative, the sigh of aharp-string or the swell of an organ-pipe. 

Woman needs friendship more than man, because she is less self-sufficing. She is much more apt than he to think the form in themirror is lovely, but not to think it of herself. Milton's Eve wasstartled with a shy delight at the fair shape in the fountain, neverdreaming that it was herself. Men are flutes: they must be filledwith the warm breath of a foreign sympathy. Women are harpsichords:they have all the conditions of music in themselves, and only need tobe struck. But, containing so much, their need of being struck is thegreater. Charlotte Bronte, in her sad, weary life, full, as sheexpressed it, of loneliness, of longing for companionship, had twofaithful and precious friends; her "dear, dear E. , " and her "good, kind Miss W. " To the former she writes, "I am at this momenttrembling all over with excitement, after reading your note: it iswhat I never received before, the unrestrained pouring out of a warm, gentle, generous heart. If you love me, do, do, do come on Friday. Ishall watch and wait for you; and, if you disappoint me, I shallweep. " Few sayings are more touching than that which Thackeray hearda woman utter, that she would gladly have taken Swift's cruelty tohave had his tenderness. Now, is it not true that the intenser neednaturally implies the keener search and the more copious finding?

The great reason why the friendships of women are not more frequentand prominent than they are is, that the proper destiny of womancalls her to love; and this sentiment, in its fullness, is usuallytoo absorbing to leave room and force for conspicuous friendships. With men the other sentiments are not so much suspended or engulfedby conjugal and parental love. "The men, " La Bruyere says, "are theoccasion that women do not love each other. " With the one-sidedexaggeration incident to most aphorisms, this is true. Husband andchildren occupy the wife and mother; and marriage is often the graveof feminine friendships. According to the maxim of Saint Paul, "Thehead of the woman is the man:" the attraction of another woman mustgenerally be weaker. The lives of men are the sighs of nature: thelives of women are their echoes. The sharp-eyed Richter says, "Awoman, unlike Narcissus, seeks not her own image and a second I: shemuch prefers a not-I. " This profound remark exactly touches thedifference between friendship and love, and between the respectiverelations of man and woman to the two sentiments. Friendship is thesimple reflection of souls by each other. Love is the mutualreflection of their entire being by two persons, each supplementingthe defects of the other. Love, therefore, is friendship, with adifferential addition. True love includes friendship, as the greaterincludes the smaller. Now, the self-sufficient character of man makeshim seek a second I; that is, wish to see himself reflected inanother. But the sympathetic character of woman makes her seek a not-I; that is, wish to see another reflected in herself. It is incorrectto say, that woman has less capacity than man for friendship: it iscorrect only to say, that man is more easily satisfied withfriendship than woman is. She demands that, and something more; andevery page of history teems with the records of that something more, the heavenly records of the sufferings, sacrifices, and triumphs ofwoman's love. When this imperial sentiment is baffled, and yet thesoul remains mistress of herself, it is impossible that the nextstrongest sentiment should not, in all available instances, becultivated as a solace and vicegerent. One of the renowned apothegmsof that sinister moralist, Rochefoucauld, is, "Women feel friendshipinsipid after love. " But he should have limited his remark to viciouswomen. It will not apply to virtuous women. Jane Austin, who inknowledge of the feminine heart has few equals, says, "Friendship iscertainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love. "

Women are more sensitive and acute than men, more delicateelectrometers for all the imponderable agencies of sympathy; and thisgreater penetration makes them more fastidious, gives them betterability indeed to admire what is superior, but causes them to be lesstolerant of what is offensive. The innervation and nutrition of womanare finer and more complicated than those of man; and, by as much asher nerves are more numerous and more delicate, she has a keener andricher consciousness, including many states he is incapable ofreproducing. He is more of a head; she, more of a plant. Her body isfar more intelligent than his; and feelings are the thoughts of thebody, as thoughts are the feelings of the mind. No one can forget thelines, made so famous by their exquisite felicity, written ofElizabeth Drury by Donne:

The pure and eloquent bloodSpoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, Ye might have almost said her body thought. 

Mothers feel as if still connected with their offspring by the fibresthat joined them in their prenatal life; as the nerves continue toreport in consciousness an amputated hand or foot. There is in alltheir emotions a vascular quality or consanguineous tincture never tobe wholly eliminated. 

The greater material identification of mothers than of fathers withtheir children, in the long period of gestation and nursing, leads toa closer and more persistent mental identification with them. Thephysical differences of the sexes react on the mind to make moraldifferences; and these are further heightened by differences in theireducation, habits of life, and sphere of interests. No doubt, thesedifferences occupy a larger share of attention in women than in men. 

Those who have suffered sharply, see keenly; and it is difficult toconceal much from women. They have the strangest facility in readingphysiological language, tones, gestures, bearing, and all thosecountless signs which make the face and eyes such tell-tales of thesoul. They will look into your eyes, and see you think; listen toyour voice, and hear you feel. The coy and subtle world of emotionnow infinitely timid and reticent, now all gates flung down for thefloods to pour is their domain. They are at home in it all, from therosy fogs of feeling to the twilight borders of intelligence. On theone side, these endowments are a help to friendship. The ardor withwhich a pure and generous woman enters into choice states of soul inanother is a redemptive sight. This capacity of swift perception andsympathy makes the friendship of a woman a precious boon to a man whoaims at greatness or perfection; and scarcely ever has there been anillustrious man who has not been appreciated, comforted, and inspiredin secret by some woman long before he became famous, circling aroundhim with her unselfish ministrations, like that star which is theinvisible companion of Sirius. 

The poor young Niebuhr writes home from Great Britain to MadamHensler, the wife of the good professor who had befriended him incollege, "Your letter has made me so wild with delight, that I havefelt full of affection to every creature that has come in my way. "The melancholy heart and dismal lot of Gerald Griffin, the Irishnovelist, found almost their solitary human alleviation andbrightness in the sustaining kindness and admiration of a lady, designated in his brother's biography of him as Mrs. L. John Foster, whose social career was as trying to him as his massive soul waslonely, exceedingly enjoyed the cordial encouragement and affectionof a number of cultivated and excellent women. Many of his publishedletters were addressed to one of these, Mrs. Mant. He thus writes toher of another one: "I turn, disgusted and contemptuous, from insipidand shallow folly, to lave in the tide of deeper sentiments. There Iswim and dive and rise and gambol, with all that wild delight whichcould be felt by a fish, after panting out of its element awhile, when flung into its own world of waters by some friendly hand. Such ahand to me is Mrs. C. 's. It is impossible to give a just idea of thestrange fascination she diffuses around her. My mind seems to belarger, stronger, and more brilliant in her company than anywhereelse. Every fountain of sentiment opens at her approach. "

The greater sensibility, insight, and impulsiveness of women, on theother hand, expose them more to obstacles in the way of friendship. Coldness and meanness are less endurable by them. A genuinely feelingsoul has an insuperable repugnance alike for unfeelingness, for falsefeeling, and for false expressions of feeling. An Arabian coursercannot travel comfortably with a snail. A soul whose motions aremusical curves cannot well blend with a soul whose motions arediscordant angles. A woman is naturally as much more capricious thana man, as she is more susceptible. A slighter shock suffices tojostle her delicate emotions out of delight into disgust. She istherefore a severer personal critic. Male peccadilloes are femalecrimes. A wet-blanket presence that she could not tolerate mayrefresh him. As less strong, less stably poised, than he, she is moretempted to have recourse to artifice; and when she does stoop todissimulation, she uses it with inimitable dexterity, as shield, asfoil, as poniard. It would be a difficult task for men to do what thespotless and loving Eugénie de Guérin was horrified at seeing twoprominent Parisian ladies do, play the part of tender friends insociety, and then turn away and venomously caricature each other. What woman who possessed a ring conferring invisibility on itswearer, would dare to put it on, and move about among her friends?The weakness of women is an exaggerated attention to trifles. Thegreat condition of steady friendship is community of plans and endsin the parties. This is much wanting in women, who think chiefly ofpersons, little of laborious aims. Two girls, who live in a multitudeof evaporating impulses and dreams it were as easy to yoke a coupleof humming-birds, and make them draw. Because the polarity of a grandfixed purpose is absent from it, the mind of many a woman is a heapof petty antipathies; and, where the likings are fickle, thedislikings are pretty sure to be tenacious. A keen student of humannature has remarked, that many women "spend force enough in trivialobservations on dress and manners, to form a javelin to pierce quitethrough a character. " Women's eyes are armed with microscopes to seeall the little defects and dissimilarities which can irritate andinjure their friendships. Hence there are so many feminine friendseasily provoked to mutual criticisms and recriminations. 

The dear friends, Fanny Squeers and Matilda Price, experienced aviolent jealousy on account of Nicholas Nickleby. After a fiercealtercation, they fell into tears, followed by remonstrances and anexplanation, and terminated by embraces and by vows of eternalfriendship; "the occasion making the fifty-second time of repeatingthe same impressive ceremony within a twelvemonth. " But obviously itis a closer approach to the truth to take the sensitiveness andinterruptions in the mutual relations of women, as compared withthose in the relations of men, as the direct, rather than as theinverse, measure of the number and value of their respectivefriendships. Yet, by a gross error, the estimate is usually made inthe latter way. 

The maxim of Walter Savage Landor is a palpable stroke at the truth:"No friendship is so cordial or so delicious as that of girl forgirl; no hatred so intense and immovable as that of woman for woman. "In fact, there is immensely less indifference between women thanbetween men; there are incomparably more enmities; and there are agreat many more friendships. It is the enormous preponderance of themutual dislikes of women over those of men, which chiefly has givenrise to the fallacious belief that their mutual likes are less. These, too, are more, though not, perhaps, so much more. 

Among women, it is true, only a few of those memorable unions of souland life are known which entitle the parties to be ranked as pairs offriends. Our ignorance, however, of such cases does not prove theirnon-existence. There have been thousands of them. There are a greatmany at this moment. It is the characteristic modesty and privacy ofthe lives of women which keep these heart-histories concealed. Themost gifted, refined, and elevated natures are most likely to havethis experience; and such natures shrink with unconquerablerepugnance from all obtrusion, or betrayal, of their inmostexperiences. The lives of noble women are "so transparent and so deepthat only the subtle insight of sympathy can penetrate them:" theiropen secrets baffle all the scrutiny of coarse souls. The choicest ofher sex will, to some extent, agree with the energetic sentiment ofEugénie de Guérin "I detest those women who mount the pulpit, and laytheir passions bare. " Engrossing, then, as the attachment of twowomen may be, it is not often thrust into public view so as to obtainthe literary recognition won by the similar attachments of men whoact their parts in the front of society, seeking a place in historyfor their achievements. As far as the public are concerned, womenmerge their heart-lives in the careers of those dear to them. It isaccordingly in exceptional cases alone that a knowledge of thefriendships of women is preserved for posterity. This, indeed, holdslikewise of men, but in a much lower degree. Thus far there have beenprinted accounts of the lives of hundreds of men where there has beena printed account of the life of one woman. Allowance should be madefor this in our estimate of their comparative friendships. 

And now has not something been said to shake the current opinion, that the friendships of women are few and superficial? It is truethat women are more imperiously called to love than men are; are morelikely to be absorbed by this master-passion, and thus are moreexposed to jealousy of each other. It is true, that, owing to theirgreater sensitiveness, keener subjection to the fastidious sway oftaste, women are more apt than men to fall out, being more easilydisturbed and estranged by trifles; but this relative subjection totrifles is chiefly a consequence of the exclusion of woman hithertofrom the grandest fields of education, the noblest subjects ofinterest and action. It is true, that the attachments of women, onaccount of the greater privacy of their lives, are less conspicuousthan those of men, less frequently obtain historic or literarymention, and therefore seem to be rarer. But it is not true, eitherthat women are incapable of enthusiastic and steadfast friendshipsfor each other, or that such friendships are uncommon. If women aremore critical and severe towards their own sex than men are, it ischiefly because they cannot, like men, be indifferent to each other:they must positively feel either sympathy or aversion. 

It is very frequently the case, that a single woman, blessed withwealth, invites some friend, to whom she is strongly attached, toaccept a home with her; and they live thenceforth in indissolubleunion. Such an instance among men is almost as rare as a whiteblackbird. Unmarried sisters so often pass all their years together, inseparably united, both inwardly and outwardly, that almost everyone of us is acquainted with many examples. But it is extremely rarefor bachelor brothers to club together, and pass a wholly sharedexistence. 

In the higher classes of society, it is a common custom for nobly-born women to have lady companions, to whom they give a home andsupport and constant love, for the sake of congenial intercourse withthem, for the comfort of their presence and conversation. There isscarcely a corresponding custom among men. It has happened to thewriter to know numerous instances in which a wealthy woman has, inher lifetime, freely bestowed on a poor friend, from a pure impulseof good-will, a sum of money sufficient to secure her a handsomeindependence. This substantial deed of friendship he has not knownparalleled in a single instance among men. 

Men do not often go so far in either moral extreme as the other sex. It is the corruption of the best that makes the worst. Who is this, shameless mixture of beast and fiend, with body of fire, heart ofmarble, brow of bronze, and hand hollowed to hold money? It is thewoman who sells herself in the street. And who is this, with upturnedeyes of fathomless love, the radiant paleness of ecstasy transfusingher countenance, heaven flooding her soul, the world a forgotten toybeneath her feet? It is the woman who, in silence and secrecy, givesherself to God. So capacious of extremes is the feminine spirit. 

There is no fretfullness, spitefullness, revengefullness, equal tothose of a woman. There is no grace, sweetness, dignity, disinterestedness, equal to those of a woman. And, when all is said, the conclusion of one who understands the subject will be, that, forquick depth of sympathy, intuitive divination, joyous sacrifice, perfect reproduction of all the modulations of feeling, there is nofriendship equal to that of a woman. 

FRIENDSHIP WITHIN AND WITHOUT THE TIES OF CONSANGUINITY. 

THE presentation of the friendships of women in distinct classes willadd clearness to the treatment, and will also make it easier tosuggest, with some approach to adequacy, the wealth of the topic. Itis natural to begin with instances within the limits of bloodrelationship, and between persons of opposite sex. The relations ofconscious affection among those of near kindred are but too apt, fromthe blunting influence of custom, to have a character of tameness, lukewarm routine. The members of the family, in their commonplacefamiliarity, cherish a quiet goodwill and fidelity, without anyrelishing surprise, romantic hues, or mystery. Calmly affectionate, or perhaps listless, towards all within the domestic circle, theylook outside for inspiring intercourse and thrilling attachments, andfor calls to lofty sacrifice and delight. This is too often the case. Identity of inheritance and situation, sameness of idiosyncrasy, andhabitude of union, squeeze poppies into the household cup, and clothein dull gray the familiar landscape around; and yet, happily, innumerous instances it is not so. The confidential intimacies, theincessant dependencies, duties, and favors of near relatives, insteadof engendering a consciousness of vapid usage, sprinkle electricstimulants on their mutual feelings and intercommunications. 

Their affictions towards each other keep fresh and grow deeper, andthe homestead stands in a landscape tinged with faith and romance. The imagination, undeadened by custom, goes with their eyes andhands, exerts its beautifying magic, and idealizes or glorifies theirimages in each other's souls. 

Then kinship becomes friendship. Upon the material consanguinity issuperinduced a spiritual consanguinity; the legal and customary bondsof descent, association, and duty are brightened and exalted intodelightful relations of intelligence and sympathy, a choice communityof character, purposes, and experience. The relative is then hiddenin the friend. Innumerable aunts and nephews, nieces and uncles, cousins, and other branches of kindred, have found in theirrelationship, with the common interests and the consequent meetings, a fortunate occasion for forming close and blessed friendships. 

The biblical instance of Esther and Mordecai is very charming. Esther, left an orphan, was adopted and brought up by her uncle, Mordeoi. When the beautiful Jewish maiden was taken into the palace, among those from whom Ahasuerus was to choose his queen, "Mordecaiwalked every day before the court of the women's house, to know howEsther did and what should become of her. " And when she had been madequeen, "she did still the commandment of Mordecai, like as when shewas brought up with him. " In the threatened calamity of the Jews, Mordecai rent his clothes, and put on sackcloth with ashes, and wept. Esther's maids told her of it. "Then was the queen exceedinglygrieved; and she sent raiment to clothe Mordecai. " In all the sequelof the well-known tale, it is easy to see that the niece's friendshipfor her uncle was at least as important a sentiment as the wife'slove for her husband. Beranger caused to be placed on the tomb of hisaunt this touching inscription: She was never a mother, yet sonsmourned for her. It is a striking fact that the strength of the tieof blood is in an historic process of decrease, while, parallel withit, the strength of the tie of moral sympathy is in an historicprocess of increase. In primitive ages, when barbaric forceprevailed, and life was full of exposures, and redress was uncertain, the family was the unit of society. All within the bond of the familystood compactly together in the most sacred and intense of leaguesagainst every hostile approach from without. But as law and orderbecame consolidated, and their sanctions diffused, and adequategeneral tribunals were set up, and public considerations encroachedon private, the tie of physical kindred grew less, that of moralfellowship more. The bloody feuds of old times, which ran down theveins of successive generations like streams of fire, have becomenearly obsolete. The hates transmitted with such wild ferocity, thefriendships handed down with such burning loyalty, among the ancientScottish clans, are phenomena not possible in the cultured circles ofBerlin, London, Paris, or New York. This relative decay of the energyof the sentiment of material relationship is not to be regretted; forit is a sign of progress, when we see its connection with thecorresponding development of the force of free spiritual affinity. Itlooks towards the end contemplated by Jesus when he said. "Whosoeverdoeth the will of my Father in heaven, the same is my mother, and mybrother, and my sister. "

Once the merit or demerit of the individual had comparatively littleto do with the regards which the other members of the familycherished towards him. Now it goes far towards a total determinationof those regards. Multitudes of the nearest relatives are utterlyindifferent to each other; multitudes of them hate each other. Whereno fitness for a genuine union of mind and heart exists in theparties, all the forensic ties and all the conjoining memories in theworld go for nothing. A horrid illustration of this truth is given bythe conduct of Tullia, the Lady Macbeth of antiquity, who drove herchariot over the body of her murdered father lying in the "WickedStreet, " and smiled as his blood spattered her dress. But truly it isa happy thing when those naturally associated in birth, position, andcircumstances of life, become by sympathy inwardly united in mutualappreciation and will. It is like adding the spirit of music to thematerial conditions of music. 

FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN PARENTS AND CHILDREN. 

PARENTS and children furnish the first class of examples in which thefondness of a close attachment by nature is elevated into a freer andmore comprehensive connection by intelligent sympathy; in which theaffection of instinct and custom is transformed into the loftier andricher affection of friendship. This high and benign transformationtakes place in due season between all mothers and sons, all daughtersand fathers, who afford the requisite conditions for it; that is, inall cases where they remain long enough together, and theircharacters and manners are such as naturally command respect and lovefrom each other. Even when children are ignoble and unworthy, theirfathers and mothers may yearn over them with every strictly parentalaffection; and even when parents are vicious and degraded, theirchildren may regard them with every strictly filial affection; butfriendship between them is generally impossible without theco-existence, on both sides, of intrinsic worth, of those responsivevirtues which elicit esteem and dominate sympathy. The great reasonof the failure of a broad, glowing friendship between parents andchildren a failure o deplorably common in our homes is the lack, inheir characters, of that wealth, nobleness, sweetness, patience, aspiration, which would irresistibly draw them to each other inmutual honor, love, and joy. The only remedy for this unhappy failureis the cure of its unhappier cause. Whatever makes characters deep, rich, pure, and gentle in themselves, tends to make them pleasing toeach other. 

It is absurd to suppose, that mean, hateful, and miserable souls willlove each other simply because they are connected by ties ofconsanguinity, of interest, or of duty. 

Whatever makes us suffer, especially whatever injures our fineremotions, naturally tends to become repulsive to us, an object ofdislike gathering disagreeable associations. Even a mother, a son, afather, a daughter, may become such an object, as is illustrated withmelancholy frequency. But when parents and children possess thosehigh qualities of soul which naturally give pleasure, createaffection, and evoke homage; and when they are not too earlyseparated, or too much distracted in alien pursuits, a firm andardent friendship must spring up between them. The mere parental andfilial relation will become subordinated, as a sober central threadin a wide web of colored embroidery. The parental instinct and thefilial instinct, weaned from their organic directness, will grow morecomplex and mental; and, parallel with this process, the graciousguardians and the clinging dependants will gradually change intocompanions and friends, still retaining, however, sacred vestiges andmemories of the original cords of their union. When we have allowedproper abatement for the thousands of instances in which thisprecious result is not reached, the general statement now made opensto us a large class of beautiful friendships. In all ages there havebeen myriads of mothers and sons, myriads of daughters and fathers, who were models of devoted, happy friends. Before paying attention tothese, it will be profitable for us to notice the other cases. 

Considered with reference to our subject, there are four classes ofparents and children. First, Those who are positive enemies, theirmain relation being one of opposition, dislike, and pain. Undoubtedlya chief reason for this unfortunate result is carelessness, failureto understand and feel in advance the inestimable importance of aright rule and fruition of the home. But a cause working morestrongly still arises from prominent vices of character, base andwicked qualities of soul, which make harmony impossible, friction andalienation inevitable. Disorder, fretfullness, antagonism, andmisery, pervading the house, compel its members to detest each other. Then hatred occupies the place which should be occupied byfriendship. This is a melancholy and odious sight to see. It is ahorrible evil for its sufferers to endure. It is a terriblemisfortune and wretchedness to all concerned. 

Secondly, There are parents and children who live in entire unconcernand neglect of each other, in a mere routine of external connectionsand associations. This absence of all deep personal sensibility, either sympathetic or hostile, is not so frightful a calamity as therankling resentment of a rooted and conscious enmity; but it is alamentable misfortune. It is a sad loss, however little they maythink of it. Absorbed in other matters, giving all their affection tobusiness, fashion, ambition, dissipation, or to persons outside ofthe home-circle, they overlook the thing most indispensable forplacid and permanent contentment; and are sure, sooner or later, torue their folly, in an experience of bitter disappointment. 

Thirdly, there are those who, so far from cherishing hatred orindifference, deeply love each other, and passionately long to enjoyan intimate union in reciprocal confidence, esteem, and sympathy, butare prevented by some unhappy impediment, some disastrousmisunderstanding or morbid pique. Many a parent yearns withunspeakable fondness towards a disobedient and ungrateful child; theheart breaking with agony for the reconciliation, the embrace, thesweet communion fate withholds. Many a child profoundly desires tofall at the feet of a cold, hard, careless parent, and withsupplicating tears win the notice, the affection, that would be sopriceless; and, sadder still, there is many an instance where bothparent and child are truly noble and affectionate, and would give theworld if they could break through the separating barrier, and lavishtheir whole hearts on each other; but, in spite of these generousqualities, their common desires and their bitter suffering, somefalsehood, some pride, some shyness, some suspicion, some chill, intangible phantom, is set fatally between them. In every communitythere are piteous tragedies of this sort, little dreamed of by thoseoutside, but which the bleeding hearts concerned in them feel as adeadly drain, hastening them towards the grave. 

Fourthly, Besides the parents and children who are open enemies, whoare utter indifferentists, or who, while loving each other, are keptapart by some obstacle, there is another class, who, as free andcordial friends, happily realize in their relation all that is to bedesired. In these examples there are ample wisdom, considerateness, tender sympathy, and guardian strength, on the one side; readydocility, attentiveness, obedience, reverence, and fondness, on theother; with an exuberance of indescribable comfort and peace on bothsides. What a treasure, what an inestimable boon, what a divinetrust, what an inexhaustible delight, is such an affection between aparent and a child! What a paradise any country would be, if such anexperience were welling up, a pure fountain of life, in every homethroughout its borders!

Few inquiries can have greater interest or importance than theinquiry, why there is not more generally between parents and childrenthat warm, ingenuous, abiding affection which produces a full andjoyous friendship. A clear perception and statement of thedifficulties in the way of it may suggest the means of removing them. And, in the outset, is it not obvious that the home affectionsflourish so scantily because scanty attention is paid to thecultivation of them? It is forever the fallacy and folly of man tothink least of that which lies nearest to him, and is the mostindissolubly bound up with his being as a cause of happiness or ofmisery. He thinks most eagerly on those comparatively exceptional andremote things, which, in consequence of their greatness or theirrarity, are the strangest and the most impressive to him. He ought topay the keenest heed to that which is the most important in itsinfluence on his life, not to that which is the most startling to hisfancy. Now, it is unquestionably true, that while there is nothingwhich contributes so much to enrich or to impoverish us, to bless orto curse us, as our domestic relations, there is scarcely any thingwhich we take less pains to cultivate into all that it is capable ofbecoming. In most instances, the life of the home is so close to us, so identified with ourselves, accepted with such a matter of coursesecurity, that we overlook the delicate conditions for preserving itsfreshness and securing its increase. But, in every relation ofpersons, there are two sets of conditions, corresponding with the twosides, neither of which can be neglected with impunity. There are amultitude of homes which are centres of irritation and wretchedness, miniature hells to their occupants. 

The first thing to be done is to turn thought to the subject, breakup the apathy of routine, secure an earnest appreciation of the factsin the case, and then study the remedy. 

One great obstacle to the desired friendships of parents and childrenconsists in the difficulty of a perfect sympathy between personsmarked by such differences of age, position, interest, andexperience. Those of the same years, passions, pleasures, duties, will naturally sympathize the most easily. But in all these respectsthe disparities of parent and child are equally numerous andstriking. 

They look at things from opposed points of view; they judge ofsubjects in the light respectively of experience and of inexperience. This great and constant contrast must give rise to innumerablediscrepancies of opinion and of desire, provocative of disagreements, if not of dislikes. Nature has, however, provided powerfulneutralizers for this obstacle to sympathy between those who are sowidely unlike, counteractives which forcibly tend to preventdisagreements from breeding hostilities. These counteractives are theprofound instincts of parental fondness and filial reverence, thefirst of which tends to make the parents enter into the spiritualstates of their children, and to look at things from their point ofview; and the second, to make the children, with docile duteousness, adopt as their own the conclusions of their parents. Thesecounteractives ought to be carefully fostered, neither partyforgetting the differences between himself and the other, butendeavoring to bridge those differences by the identifying powers ofimagination and sympathy. Another frequent destroyer or lessener ofthe natural love of parents and children is the conflict between therightful authority of the former and the wilful impulses of thelatter. 

Maturity, having accumulated knowledge and wisdom out of longexperience, and being set by God and nature in charge over theheadstrong instincts of ignorant or capricious youth, cannot avoidthe duty of frequently applying the curb to excessive desires, andthe spur to defective ones. A sense of chafing, an impulse to resentand rebel, will naturally often arise. And, in every such collisionof passion and rule, there is a tendency to hostility. It is needlessto say how lamentably frequent are the examples in which thistendency makes actual foes of those between whom the natural bonds oflove and reverence are of the most sacred character. It is evidentthat parental authority is a divine trust which must be exercisedover childhood and youth. Only it should be exercised on principle, not from caprice; for the good of the ruled, not for thegratification of a despotic self-assertion in the ruler; with fondgentleness, not with harshness or cruelty. And the authority of theparent should be vindicated as far as possible by force of wisdom, weight of character, power of persuasion; avoiding, as far as canproperly be done, every occasion of conflict, every need of a violentissue. The child, on the other hand, ought to remember the rightfulauthority of his parents, consider their greater experience, take forgranted their benignant intention, cultivate a grateful sense ofdependence and duty towards them, and foster the habit of prompt andhearty submission to their wishes. It is a safe rule, in general, fora boy or girl to respect and obey the father and mother, and not tothink, when they oppose the thoughtless spirit of self-indulgence, that this parental opposition is unreasonable or unkind. To honorone's parents is the first scriptural commandment with promise. 

It is a habit which no one will ever regret. But, alas! how many aman, how many a woman, has kneeled on the grave where father ormother lay mouldering, and has lamented, with burning tears of shameand sorrow, the disobedience, the disrespect, the unkindness, theneglect, shown in earlier years! How have they longed to lift up thefaded forms from their coffins, to re-animate them, and to have themagain in their homes, that, by unwearied ministrations of tenderness, they might atone for the upbraiding past! Let the man in the fullmaturity of his age, hardened by long contact with the world, revisitthe scenes of his childhood. Let him stand by the old homestead wherefence and wall have fallen, and house and hearth gone to dust. Whatpresence hallows the place? Who so fills the air about him as to seemjust ready to break into palpable vision wherever he turns? It is hismother. Overwhelmed by a flood of memories, inspired by an immortalfaith, not less than by an immortal affection, he drops on his knees, and cries, Mother! thou art mother still;Only the body dies;Such love as bound thy heart to mine, Death only purifies. 

The same moral is drawn by Sarah Tytler in her excellent book of"Sweet Counsel" for girls, where she says, "I do not know that I evertold my father I was once or twice very angry with him for refusingme this or that request. My lips will never tell him now, and beg hispardon, and assure him that I was not worthy of him then, but that Iknow all at last; my hand will never clasp his hand, my lips neverkiss his lips again. But I do not break my heart; for I think heknows all that I ever intended to tell him, and has forgiven me longago. I am persuaded, "There must be wisdom with great death;The dead shall look me through and through. "

But perhaps the most fatal influence against the growth andperpetuation of vivid friendships between parents and children is thedisenchanting effect of familiarity. A close and constantintercourse, long continued, usually tends to make persons arid, commonplace, uninteresting, to each other, takes away surprise, eagerexpectation, and romance. There is nothing human beings so much likeas to be able strongly to impress and be impressed. This seems tocease to be possible in a company who fancy they have struck everystring, sounded every secret, exhausted the possibilities, in eachother. A long subjection of the same persons to the samecircumstances produces a general spirit of sameness, a flaggingtedium, a want of varied attraction and stimulation. Let a stranger, a foreign friend, any honored guest, come in, and how his presencequickens every thing! Life shines with novel lustre, and throbs withnew energy. Every one puts his best foot forward, exerts his bestpowers to interest. The fresh pleasure every one feels gives him afresh power of pleasing. But, ah it would be of no use, we think, tomake any effort in the dull old circle of our familiars, who canproduce no effect on us, and on whom we, in turn, can produce noeffect. And thus life in the home becomes monotonous, torpid, andvacant. Worlds of love are every day destroyed by indifference andrepulse. If the same pains were taken to invigorate and perpetuatethe domestic affections as to secure the good-will of other personswhom we admire or depend on, it could scarcely fail to give awonderful enrichment to the satisfactions of home. 

This truth is especially applicable to the relation of parents andchildren in our day. The old extreme of a severe exercise of parentalauthority has passed away, and a new extreme of filialinsubordination and insolent self-assertion has taken its place. Itis altogether too frequent a thing now to see lads and lasses takingtheir parents to task as inferiors, and demanding every service fromthem. The thought of his child should be a constant delight to aparent. When the ill-temper and ill-behavior of a child cause everyassociation with him in the heart of the parent to be disturbing andpainful, how can the result be otherwise than alienating anddepressing? Let there be two children in a family, one of whom isinvariably obedient, gentle, attentive, ingenuous; the other, irritable, insubordinate, careless, secretive, and untruthful. Theformer shall be idolized, while the latter is regarded withcondemnatory repugnance. The fact that a boy is your son, or that agirl is your daughter, cannot wholly neutralize the repulsiveness oftheir odious traits. When children uniformly respect and obey theirparents, and seek by every kind attention and praiseworthy effort toplease them, it is not in human nature that they should fail to beunspeakably loved and caressed. Deferential treatment, patientservice, quick sympathy, expectant attention, an obvious desire toplease, are the most potent charms that mortals can wield. They showthat the parties are important to each other. They give life itshighest value. In their absence, all romantic color fades, and everyprecious affection expires. The most effective intercourse thatvanity can establish with strangers offers nothing comparable to thedelicious quality of the experience which results when a parent andchild, of suitable character and age, are blessed with a completefriendship. Every thought of it pours for them a sudden sunshinethrough the sky, an exhilarating fragrance through the air. 

Undoubtedly the affections are greatly hurt and repressed by beingregarded as obligations rather than as privileges. They must be wooedforth by the gentlest lures. They will not come when carelesslyexpected and demanded as a matter of course. The heart will be free. It imperiously resents bonds and orders. The love of parent and childis certainly even more a delight than it is a duty. They should befriends, not so much because they are commanded to be such, but morebecause they are mutually worthy, and because their peace of mind, their contentment of heart, their improvement and happiness, dependon their being such. What privilege can be imagined superior inpurity of joy and profit, to that of a young man who has for hisfriend a wise and holy mother, whom he loves with enthusiasm andconfides in with an absolute devotion?

And if there be a human tearFrom passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meekIt would not stain an angel's cheek, 'Tis that which pious fathers shedUpon a duteous daughter's head. 

FRIENDSHIPS OF MOTHERS AND SONS. 

CORNELIA, daughter of Scipio Africanus, and wife of TiberiusGracchus, was left a widow, with a large family of young children. She refused all subsequent offers of marriage, even when Ptolemy ofEgypt wished to share his throne with her. Her two sons, Tiberius andCaius, the tribunes who achieved such greatness and fame, owed everything to her judicious training, to her wise and unwearied pains ineducating them, guarding them, and inspiring them to high deeds. Shewas almost idolized by the Roman people, and occupied, indeed, theproudest position of any woman in the history of her country. Her twosons venerated, and invariably took counsel with their mother. 

It is evident that their inner lives were shared with her. One ofthem was known to have dropped, at her request, a law which he meantto urge through the Senate. Cicero says that Catulus pronounced apublic panegyric on his mother, Popilia, the first time such a thingwas done in Rome. In a less formal manner, Caius Gracchus oftenpublicly spoke the praises of his mother, Cornelia. When her sonswere murdered, she bore the cruel affliction with imposingmagnanimity. Departing from Rome, she took up her abode at Misenum, where, in the exercise of a queenly hospitality, she lived, surrounded by illustrious men of letters, as well as by others of thehighest rank and distinction. Universally honored and respected, shereached a good old age, and finally received at the hands of theRoman people a statue inscribed, Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi. Notwithstanding her somewhat meddlesome and despotic temper, QueenOlympias seems to have maintained an intimate friendship with herson, Alexander the Great. He omitted no occasion, we are told, ofshowing his esteem and affection for her. When absent on hiscampaigns, he kept up a constant correspondence with her, highlyvaluing her letters, and in return concealing nothing from her. SaintAugustine and his mother, Saint Monica, a sublime example of thisfriendship, sit on the shore of fame, side by side; the face of themother a little above that of the son; both of them worn with care, full of lofty pathos and love, looking at us out of the night oftime; the sea of mortal passion far beneath their feet; the eternalstars hanging silent above, even as Ary Scheffer reveals in hissolemn picture of them sitting in the window at Ostia, and gazingtogether over the ocean. 

Thirty years after the death of Monica, Augustine said in one of hissermons, "Ah! The dead do not come back; for, had it been possible, there is not a night when I should not have seen my mother, she whocould not live apart from me, and who, in all my wanderings, neverforsook me. For God forbid that in heaven her affection should cease, or that she should not, if she could, have come to console me when Isuffered! She who loved me more than words can express. " The example, in American history, of a valued and fruitful friendship between amother and a son, given by Abigail Adams and John Quincy Adams, isstamped with prominence by the exceptional fact of the publication ofher letters to him. These letters breathe wisdom and virtue, withincitement to all worthy aims, no less than strong mentalcompanionship and fervent maternal sympathy. They have been edited byher grandson, who pays her a deserved tribute in the memoir he hasprefixed. The wife of the elder President Adams can never lose theexalted place she holds, in the honoring remembrance of the Americanpeople, among those exemplary women whose powerful talents andvirtues did so much to mould the destinies of the nascent Republic. Madame Goethe said to Bettine, "My Wolfgang and I were so nearly ofan age, that we grew up together more as playmates than as mother andchild. " And, when the great Wolfgang was an old man, he said that hismother, as yet quite a child, grew up to consciousness first with, then in, himself and his sister Cornelia. Her intercourse with him isprominent through a large part of his life: her influence on him isvisible through the whole of it. The union of the illustriousbrothers Humboldt with their mother was especially full and tender. While she lived, they shared souls; and, after her departure, thesons idolized her memory. Long years had passed, when William, expiring in the arms of his elder brother, said, "I shall soon bewith our mother. " And Alexander said, "I did not think my old eyeshad so many tears. " The relation of Guizot, the distinguished Frenchstatesman and author, with his mother, was one of the deepest, fullest, and noblest friendships that ever conjoined mother and son. Madame Guizot went through the horror and tragedy of the Revolution, to which her husband was one of the choicest victims, with a heroismand a dignity unsurpassed; and devoted herself to her maternal dutieswith a calm energy and wisdom whose proper fruits she lived long toenjoy. Her character revealed the purest feminine qualities inconspicuous perfection. Her honored old age showed all that is lovelyand all that is august united, in her history, her spirit, hermanners, her acquirements, and her presence, to attract confidenceand to command respect. Indissolubly joined, through more than sixtyyears, with her brilliant and high-souled son, she was not more proudand fond of him than he was of her. 

FRIENDSHIPS OF DAUGHTERS AND FATHERS. 

CICERO and his daughter, Tullia, enjoyed an extraordinary friendship. From all the hints left us, it is to be gathered that Tullia was awoman of sweet and noble character. It is certain that she was mostaffectionately devoted to her father; and that she hadaccomplishments of knowledge and taste, qualifying her to be hiscompanion and his delight in his age and grief. It is affecting toread how eagerly, on his recall from exile, she hurried to Brundusiumto throw herself into his arms. She died at about thirty-two. He wasthrown into a state of lamentable prostration. Turn where he would inhis inconsolable sorrow, engage in whatever he might, tearsconstantly overtook him. His friends, Atticus, Csar, Brutus, Sulpicius, and others, wrote letters of sympathy to him. He retiredto one of country-seats. Seeking the solace of solitude, he buriedhimself every morning in the thickest of the wood, and came not outtill evening. In his former reverses, he says he could turn to oneplace for shelter and peace. "A daughter I had, in whose sweetconversation I could drop all my cares and troubles. 

But now every thing is changed. " "It is all over with me, Atticus: Ifeel it more than ever now that I have lost the only being who stillbound me to life. " He purposed to erect on a commanding site, as amonument to his dear Tullia, a splendid temple, which, as thoughdedicated to some god, should survive all the changes of ownership, and bear to distant futurity the memory of her worth, and of hissorrow for her. For a long time, he could think of nothing but thedetails of this plan, on which he intended to lavish the bulk of hisfortune. He avoided society for almost a year, and never recoveredfrom the wound which the loss of her gave his heart. Margaret Roperwas the pride and darling of her father, Sir Thomas More, whom inreturn she venerated and loved with the whole depth of her heart. Thebeauty of their relation cannot be forgotten by those who have readthe life of the great English martyr. It was by her brave duteousnessthat his mutilated body was buried in the chancel of Chelsea Church. His head, exposed upon a pole on London Bridge for fourteen days, wasordered to be thrown into the Thames; but Margaret rescued it, preserved it in a leaden box, and directed that, after her death, itshould be placed with her in the grave. 

One of the loveliest examples of this class of friendships isunveiled by William Wirt in the exquisite memoir he wrote of hisdaughter, Agnes, after her death at the early age of sixteen. Theexample is closely parallel to that of the famous and good JohnEvelyn, who, apostrophizing his daughter, Mary, in mournful memory, says, "Thy affection, duty, and love to me was that of a friend aswell as of a child. " So Wirt writes of his Agnes: "To me she was notonly the companion of my studies, but the sweetener of my toils. Thepainter, it is said, relieved his aching eyes by looking on a curtainof green. My mind, in its hour of deepest fatigue, required no otherrefreshment than one glance at my beloved child, as she sat besideme. " Not many fathers and daughters have been fonder or fasterfriends than Aaron and Theodosia Burr. The character and memory ofBurr, in the popular imagination, have been blackened beyond the hopeof bleaching. Of course, he was a man mixed of good and bad; and wasnot such an unmitigated devil as some would paint him. But hisselfishness, sensuality, recklessness, and degradation give, in onerespect, a peculiar interest and instructiveness to the enthusiasticfriendship subsisting between him and his daughter. It is no disproofof the need of the great virtues to serve as the basis of a true andenduring friendship. It proves that a sincere love, even in anunclean and depraved soul, purges it, and adorns it with meritoriouscharms and real worth in that relation. However bad Burr may havebeen in other relations, to his daughter he was ever good, gentle, and wise, unwearied in his devotion, and clothed with manyfascinations. Good persons may sometimes be ill-consorted and odiousto each other, their intercourse full of jars and frictions. Badpersons may sometimes be so related as to show each other only theirgood qualities, and be happy friends, while all around are detestingthem. In one of her letters to her father, Theodosia speaks of hiswonderful fortitude, and goes on to say, "Often, after reflecting onthis subject, you appear to me so elevated above all other men; Icontemplate you with such a strange mixture of humility, admiration, reverence, love, and pride, that very little superstition would benecessary to make me worship you as a superior being; such enthusiasmdoes your character excite in me. When I afterward revert to myself, how insignificant do my best qualities appear! My vanity would begreater, if I had not been placed so near you; and yet my pride is inour relationship. I had rather not live than not be the daughter ofsuch a man. " Burr, on the evening before his duel with Hamilton, wrote to his daughter a long letter, in which he said, "I am indebtedto you, my dearest Theodosia, for a very great portion of thehappiness which I have enjoyed in this life. You have completelysatisfied all that my heart and affections had hoped, or evenwished. " Unhappily he slew his antagonist, and himself survived tocarry a load of deadly and universal obloquy which would have crushedto the earth almost any other man. 

Theodosia set sail from Charleston in a little vessel, which wasnever heard of again. It was supposed to have foundered off CapeHatteras. The loss of his daughter, Burr said, "severed him from thehuman race. " Certainly, from that time to the end of his prolongedand dishonored life, he never was wholly what he had been before. Aninner spring had been broken, and the purest contents of his hearthad escaped through the breach. Parton very fitly dedicates to thememory of Theodosia his highly readable and charitable life of herfather. That brilliant lawyer, the late Rufus Choate, remarked, onreading this life, that there did not seem to have been in Burr asingle glimpse of so much as the last and poorest tribute vice paysto virtue, not even the affectation of a noble sentiment. But we mayclaim with justice, that the friendship with his daughter is onebright place in that frightfully stained, one golden gleam on thatdismally mutilated, career. Mention should be made of Richard andMaria Edgeworth, among those whose union as father and daughter, wasmerged in a superior fellowship as friends, in a more intimate anddelightful junction of ideas, sentiments, and labors. Their unitedlives, their mutual devotion, their shared counsels, pleasures, andtasks, form one of the finest of domestic pictures, a model of aChristian household. In the preface to the life of himself which heleft for Maria to complete and publish, he says, "If my daughtershould perceive any extenuation or any exaggeration, it would woundher feelings, she would be obliged to alter or omit, and heraffection for me would be diminished: can the public have a bettersurety than this for the accuracy of these memoirs?" And Maria says, "Few, I believe, have ever enjoyed such happiness, or suchadvantages, as I have had in the instructions, society, and unboundedconfidence and affection of such a father and such a friend. He was, in truth, ever since I could think or feel, the first object andmotive of my mind. " One of the most remarkable friendships of thissort was that of Madame de Staël and her father. Necker was a kind, good, and able man, who occupied a distinguished position and playeda prominent part in his time. But the genius of his impassioneddaughter transfigured him into a hero and a sage. Her attachment tohim was, in personal relations, the dominant sentiment of her life. With distinct comprehension and glowing sympathy, she entered intohis thoughts and fortunes. She was to him an invaluable source ofstrength, counsel, and consolation. 

An instance, partly ludicrous, illustrates her tender solicitude forhim; and it also shows how the mere idea of an event has, with aperson of her genius, the power of the actual occurrence. Thecoachman chanced to overset and considerably damage the empty familycarriage. When told of it, she was indifferent until the idea ofdanger to her father struck her; then, exclaiming, "My God! had M. Necker been in it, he might have been killed, " she rushed to theluckless driver, and burst on him with a storm of denunciations, mixed with expostulatory precautions as to the future. When herfather died, Madame de Staël was plunged into despairing grief, fromwhich she aroused herself for a vain effort to make the public sharein the profound admiration and love she felt for him. It was one ofher greatest trials that she could not succeed in this fondundertaking. Perhaps she was not so much deceived in her exaltedestimate of her father as has been supposed. But he lacked thategotistical dash, those impulsive displays of daring and brilliancy, which are needed to make a sensation, and to secure quickly a greatand lasting popularity. During the thirteen years that she survivedhim, the thought of him seemed constantly present; and she oftensaid, "My father is waiting for me on the other shore. " The touchingwords, addressed to Chateaubriand a little while before she crossedover, in which she summed up her life, were these: "I have alwaysbeen the same, intense and sad. I have loved God, my father, andliberty. " The unhappy Letitia Landon found a congenial friend in herfather, the early loss of whom was the first in the sad series of hermisfortunes. She closes her poem of "The Troubadour" with anaffecting tribute to his memory:

My heart hath said no name but thineShall be on this last page of mine. 

Such examples as the foregoing, showing what a treasure of help and joythe friendship of parent and child may yield to them, should teach usto think more of it, and to cultivate with greater fidelity theconditions of so blessed an experience. 

FRIENDSHIPS OF SISTERS AND BROTHERS. 

THE next class of friendships consists of those formed betweenbrothers and sisters. In this relation meet many favorable conditionsfor carrying sympathy to a great height, when the blinding effect ofearly familiarity and the palling effect of routine are prevented orneutralized. The organic affinities and heritage derived from theircommon parentage, with the memories and hopes they have in common, are, of themselves, endearing bonds. Then there are differencesenough in the boy and the girl to give their communion contrasts andzest. Unless they are frigid, selfish, or absorbed in counterdirections, or are the subjects of some unfortunate incongruity, arich friendship spontaneously arises between a brother and a sisterwho advance to maturity in the same dwelling. A gifted woman, theauthor of "Counterparts" and "Charles Auchester, " who, devoured bythe flame of her own genius, died too young, has written, somewhatextravagantly, "O blessed sympathy of sisterhood with brotherhood!Surpassing all other friendship, leavening with angel solicitude thepurest love of earth. No lovership like that of the brother and thesister, however passionate their spirits, when they truly love. "Narcissus, in the classic fable, had a lovely sister, to whom he wasmost fondly attached. They were the images and mirrors of each other. It was only when death had snatched her from his side, that, piningunder his bereavement, wandering by fountains and rivers, lie caughtglimpses of his own reflection; and, mistaking the illusory show forhis lost companion, fell in love with himself, and languished awaytill rejoined with her in the pale world of Hades. 

Hardly any picture in literature is more famous than that of thefriendship of Orestes and Electra. What divine beauty, what tragicpathos, what immortal truth, are in it! And the friendship ofAntigone and Polynices is similar. With the Greeks this relation wasunder the special protection of Apollo and Diana, the divine brotherand sister, whose physical representatives were the sun and moon. Iphigenia, priestess in Tauris, in her distress for her brother, prays to the goddess for pity and help:

For thou, Diana, lov'st thy gentle brotherBeyond what earth and heaven can offer thee, And dost, with quiet yearning, ever turnThy virgin face to his eternal light. 

A striking example of this relation, sustained with great fullnessand warmth, was given by Saint Benedict and Saint Scholastica in thesixth century. In the ecclesiastic legends connected with. Thecanonization of this brother and sister, it is narrated that theywere accustomed to meet at a place intermediate between theirretreats on Mount Cassino and at Plombariola, and to spend the nighttogether in spiritual conversation and communion on the joys ofheaven. Three days after their last interview, Scholastica died inher solitude. Benedict, rapt in contemplation on his mount at thatmoment, is said to have seen the soul of his sister ascend to heavenin the shape of a dove. He immediately sent for her body, and had itlaid, with tender and solemn ceremonies, in the tomb which he hadpreviously prepared for himself. The friendship of Tasso and hissister Cornelia has often been the theme of painting and of song. When, escaping from Ferrara, lacerated, irritated, melancholy, thepoor half-mad poet fled from his persecutors, he thought he wouldtest the affection of this early playmate and friend, whom he had notseen for many a weary year. Disguising himself as a shepherd, hepresented himself before her in her home at Sorrento. He drew sopiteous a picture of her brother's misfortunes and condition that shefainted. As soon as she recovered, he made himself known; andTorquato and Cornelia, with a swift revival of their old affection, were locked in a tender embrace, as has been described by Mrs. Hemansin a poem of extreme beauty and power of feeling. 

The peaceful retreat, the glorious scenery, the gentle nursing, restored him to health and cheerfullness. Alas that he would notstay, but rushed away to his fate The beautiful and chivalrousMargaret of Navarre was a pattern of enthusiastic devotion to herbrother, Francis I When Charles V carried him prisoner to Madrid, andhe was dying there, she went to him through every peril, and, by hernursing, restored him. She then formed a friendship with the sisterof Charles, and induced her secretly to espouse Francis, thussecuring his deliverance by his imperial brother-in-law. The enduringmonuments of art with which Francis embellished his kingdom were herinspiration. At a distance from him in his last illness, "she wentevery day, and sat down on a stone in the middle of the road, tocatch the first glimpse of a messenger afar off. And she said, "Ahwhoever shall come to announce the recovery of the king my brother, though he be tired, jaded, soiled, dishevelled, I will kiss him andembrace him as though he were the finest gentleman in the kingdom. "Hearing of his death, she soon followed him. It is painful to knowthat the love of Francis to her was not a tithe of hers to him. Heloved her, but treated her with a good deal of the feudal tyrannywhich belonged to the age. She deserved from him boundless tendernessand generosity. Sir Philip and Mary Sidney shared the same studiesand labors, and were endeared even more by similarity of soul than bytheir common parentage. Together they translated the Psalms. The nameand dedication which the brother gave to his principal work are animperishable shrine of his affection for his sister, "The Countess ofPembroke's Arcadia. " Spenser refers to her as "most resembling inshape and spirit her brother dear. " She wrote a beautiful elegy onhis death at Zutphen: Great loss to all that ever did him see; Greatloss to all, but greatest loss to me. The renowned experimentalphilosopher, Robert Boyle, and his sister, Catherine, the veryaccomplished and famous countess of Ranelagh, were a noted pair offriends. Bishop Burnet has drawn for us a delightful picture of them. He says, "They were pleasant in their lives, and in their deaths theywere not divided; for, as he lived with her above forty years, so hedid not outlive her a week. " The countess "lived the longest on themost public scene, and made the greatest figure, in all therevolutions of these kingdoms for above fifty years, of any woman ofthat age. " She laid out her time, her interest, and her estate, withthe greatest zeal and success, in doing good to others, withoutregard to sects or relations. "When any party was down, she hadcredit and zeal enough to serve them; and she employed these soeffectually, that, in the next turn, she had a new stock of credit, which she laid out wholly in that labor of love in which she spenther life. And though some particular opinions might shut her up in adivided communion, yet her soul was never of a party. She divided hercharities and friendships both, her esteem as well as her bounty, with the truest regard to merit and her own obligations, without anydifference made upon the account of opinion. She had, with a vastreach of knowledge and apprehension, an universal affability andeasiness of access, an humility that descended to the meanest personsand concerns, an obliging kindness and readiness to advise those whohad no occasion for any farther assistance from her. And with allthose and many other excellent qualities, she had the deepest senseof religion, and the most constant turning of her thoughts anddiscourses that way, that has been, perhaps, in our age. Such asister became such a brother; and it was but suitable to both theircharacters, that they should have improved the relation under whichthey were born to the more exalted and endearing one of friend. " Twoof the most distinguished in the long roll of eminent astronomers area brother and a sister, Sir William and Caroline Herschel. The storyof their united labors, how, for thousands of nights, side by sidethey sat and watched and calculated and wrote, one sweeping thetelescopic heavens, the other assisting, and noting down the results;how, with one spirit and one interest, they grew old together andillustrious together; their several achievements, both at home and inobservatories on strange shores to which they voyaged, alwaysassociated; with what affectionate care she trained the favoritenephew, who was to burnish into still more effulgent brightness thestar-linked name of Herschel, the story of all this is full ofattractiveness, and forms one of the warm and poetic episodes in thehigh, cold annals of science. The union of John Aikin and his sisterLetitia, afterwards Mrs. Barbauld, in life, tastes, labors, wasuncommonly close and complete. The narrative of it; so warm, substantial, and healthy was it, leaves a pleasing and invigoratinginfluence on the sympathies of those who read it. They composedtogether several of their excellent and most useful literary works. While Mrs. Barbauld was tarrying at Geneva, her brother addressed aletter in verse to her:

Yet one dear wish still struggles in my breast, And paints one darling object unpossessed. How many years have whirled their rapid courseSince we, sole streamlets from one honored source, In fond affection, as in blood, allied, Have wandered devious from each other's side, Allowed to catch alone some transient view, Scarce long enough to think the vision true!Oh! then, while yet some zest of life remains;While transport yet can swell the beating veins;While sweet remembrance keeps her wonted seat, And fancy still retains some genial heat;When evening bids each busy task be o'er, Once let us meet again, to part no more!

That evening came. In the village of Stoke Newington, they spent thelast twenty years of their lives, in that close neighborhood whichadmitted of the daily, almost hourly, interchanges of mind and heart. There was a friendship of great strength between Goethe and hissister Cornelia. She was only a year younger than her brother, hiscompanion in plays, lessons, and trials, bound to him by the closestties and innumerable associations. While she was yet in the cradle, he prepared dolls and amusements for her, and was very jealous of allwho came between them. 

They grew up in such union, that, as he afterwards said, they mighthave been taken for twins. The sternness of their father drove theminto a more confiding sympathy. When he had become a young man, andwas accustomed to make frequent excursions, he says, "I was againdrawn towards home, and that by a magnet which attracted me stronglyat all times: it was my sister. " Cornelia had superior endowments ofmind, great force and truth of character; but she keenly felt herwant of beauty, "a want richly compensated by the unboundedconfidence and love borne to her by all her female friends. " And yetGoethe says, "When my connection with Gretchen was torn asunder, mysister consoled me the more warmly, because she felt the secretsatisfaction of having got rid of a rival; and I, too, could not butfeel a great pleasure when she did me the justice to assure me that Iwas the only one who truly loved, understood, and esteemed her. " Attwenty-three, Cornelia was married to one of Goethe's intimatefriends, Schlosser; and, in four years, she died. In one of herbrother's frequent allusions to her, this striking trait is recorded:"Her eyes were not the finest I have ever seen, but the deepest, behind which you expected the most meaning; and when they expressedany affection, any love, their glance was without its equal. " In hisautobiography, written long, long after her death, he says, "As I lost this beloved, incomprehensible being but too early, I feltinducement enough to picture her excellence to myself; and so therearose within me the conception of a poetic whole, in which it mighthave been possible to exhibit her individuality: no other form couldbe thought of for it than that of the Richardsonian romance. But thetumult of the world called me away from this beautiful and piousdesign, as it has from so many others; and nothing now remains for mebut to call up, for a moment, that blessed spirit, as if by the aidof a magic mirror. "

A relation of a more absorbing character than the foregoing existedbetween Jacobi and his sister Lena. "For a long series of years, "Steffens writes, "she lived one life with her brother, even ennoblingand exalting him by her presence. She took part in all his studies, all his controversies; and changed the still self-communion of thelonely man into a long conversation. " There are many accounts, givenby contemporaries, of her minute carefullness for him and unwearieddevotion to him. Some make the picture a little comical, from theexcess of coddling; but all agree as to the unfailing andaffectionate sincerity of their attachment. 

There was an uncommon friendship between Chateaubriand and hisyoungest sister, Lucile, a girl of extreme beauty, genius, spirituality, and melancholy. He says of those years, "I grew up withmy sister Lucile: our friendship constituted the whole of our lives. ""Her thoughts were all sentiments. " "Her elegance, sweetness, imaginativeness, and impassioned sensibility, presented a combinationof Greek and German genius. " "Our principal recreation consisted inwalking, side by side, on the great Mall: in spring, on a carpet ofprimroses; in autumn, on beds of withered foliage; in winter, on acovering of snow. Young like the primroses, sad like the dry leaves, and pure as the new-fallen snow, there was a harmony between ourrecreations and ourselves. " Lucile first persuaded her brother towrite. Afterwards he says, "We undertook works in common: we passeddays in mutual consultation, in communicating to each other what wehad done, and what we purposed to do. " The lamentation he breathedover her grave, when she died, is one of the most affecting passagesin his long autobiography. 

Ernst and Charlotte Schleiermacher were a choice and ever-faithfulpair of friends. The published life and letters of the great preacherreveal the full beauty and importance of this relation. Theircorrespondence is filled equally with the manifestations of variedintelligence and of congenial feeling. Sharing all their experiencein affectionate intercourse, or in full and cordial letters, theyappeared thus to find their pleasures heightened, their perplexitiescleared, their trials alleviated. To this noble divine, so celebratedfor his profound scholarship, his enthusiastic piety, his exaltedsensibility, and his heroic aims, Charlotte was knit by affinities ofcharacter and life, even more closely than by those of blood andname. 

The souls and experiences of William and Dorothy Wordsworth wereoverwrought with singular felicity and entireness. Readers will longtrace the signals of this friendship in his works the record of it inhis nephew's memoir of him with pleased surprise, and dwell on itslessons with thoughtful gratitude. Dorothy, not quite two yearsyounger than William, was gifted like him, fraught with a similartemper of patient tenderness, and bound up with him in the samebundle of life. How thoroughly she lived in him is betrayed, with anaïve simplicity altogether charming, in her published notes of thetour they made in Scotland. His appreciation of her worth, and hisaffectionate sense of indebtedness to her, find many memorableutterances. Depicting her influence on him, he thanks God, and says, The blessing of my later yearsWas with me when a boy. She gave me eyes, she gave me ears, And humble cares and delicate fears; Aheart, the fountain of sweet tears;And love and thought and joy. 

They took a cottage at Grasmere, where they lived by themselves untilWilliam's marriage; nor were they parted then. 

This plot of orchard-ground is ours:My trees they are, my sister's flowers. 

When Coleridge was in Germany, he wrote to them a long letter inhexameters, in which were these lines:

William, my head and my heart! dear William and dear Dorothea! Youhave all in each other; but I am lonely, and want you. 

At another time, the same man, so beloved by them both, writes to acommon friend in the following strain: "Wordsworth and his exquisitesister are with me. Sue is a woman, indeed, in mind I mean, and inheart. In every motion, her innocent soul out-beams so brightly thatwho saw her would say, "Guilt is a thing impossible with her. " Herinformation is various; her eye, watchful in minutest observation ofnature; and her taste, a perfect electrometer. " Referring to theperiod of his opening manhood, and the sanguine hopes kindled by thedawn of the French Revolution, Wordsworth says, When every day brought with it some new senseOf exquisite regard for common things, And all the earth was budding with these giftsOf more refined humanity, thy breath, Dear sister, was a kind of gentler string, That went before my step. 

She lived with him, indoors and out of doors. She weaned him from theembittering brawl of politics, and warded away the sourness anddespair, which, at one time, seriously threatened to possess him. Inthe "Prelude, " he makes this touching acknowledgment:

Then it was, Thanks to the bounteous Giver of all good, That the beloved sister, in whose sightThose days were passed, . . . Maintained for me a saving intercourseWith my true self. 

Daily, for so many years, they went "stepping westward" in company. His eldest daughter his most darling child, whose radiant apparitionhe imagined had come for him as he was dying, and cried, "Is thatDore" bore the dear sister's name. Several of her poems were printedwith his. In addition to the well-known poem, "To My Sister, " the"Descriptive Sketches" and "An Evening Walk" were addressed to her. And numerous incidental tributes, woven into his chief works, will, better than any magic spice or nard, perfume her memory, and keep itfresh as long as his own has name and breath to live among men. 

Mine eyes did ne'erFix on a lovely object, nor my mindTake pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts, But either she, whom now I have, who nowDivides with me that loved abode, was there, Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned, Her voice was like a hidden bird that sang. The thought of her was like a flash of light, Or an unseen companionship, a breathOr fragrance independent of the wind. 

The perverse pride of Byron, the vices to which he yielded, the badthings in his writings, the sectarian obloquy which pursued him, haveveiled from popular apprehension some of the sweet and noblequalities of his heart. Notwithstanding his perverse lower impulses, he was one of the most princely and magical of the immortal lords offame. So far from there being any lack of permanent value and powerin his verse, any falling from his established rank, the mostauthoritative critics, more generally today than ever before, acknowledge him to be the greatest lyric poet that ever lived. Onecan hardly help being awed at the thought of the genius andfascination of the young man whom the gifted and fastidious Shelleycalled

The pilgrim of eternity, whose fameOver his living head, like heaven, is bent--An early but enduring monument. 

Perhaps his better traits nowhere shine out with such steady lustreas in the constancy of glowing tenderness with which, in all hiswanderings, woes, and glory, he cherished the love of his sisterAugusta, Mrs. Leigh. She remained unalterably attached to him throughthe dreadful storm of unpopularity which drove him out of England. With what convulsive gratitude he appreciated her fond fidelity, hehas expressed with that passionate richness of power which no othercould ever equal. Four of his most splendid poems were composed forher and addressed to her. In the one beginning, "When all around grewdrear and dark, " he says, When fortune changed, and love fled far, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary starWhich rose, and set not to the last. 

The wonderful verses commencing, Though the day of my destiny's over, And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discoverThe faults which so many could find, wring the very soul by their intensity of feeling condensed intolanguage of such vigor and such melody. 

From the wreck of the past, which hath perished, Thus much I at least may recall:It hath taught me that what I most cherishedDeserved to be dearest of all. In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee. 

To her he sent one of the first presentation copies of "ChildeHarold, " with this inscription: "To Augusta, my dearest sister andmy best friend, who has ever loved me much better than I deserved, this volume is presented by her father's son and most affectionatebrother. " He wrote to her those expressions of love beginning, The castled crag of DrachenfelsFrowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine;

and ending, Nor could on earth a spot be foundTo nature and to me so dear, Could thy dear eyes, In following mine, Still sweeten moreThese banks of Rhine, expressions so transcendently fond and earnest in their beauty, that it is a thrilling luxury to linger on them, return to them, and repeat them over and over. 

One of the finest and richest productions of his genius, both inthought and in passion, is the poem he wrote to her when he wasliving at Diodati, on the banks of Leman. 

My sister, my sweet sister! if a nameDearer and purer were, it should be thine. Mountains and seas divide us; but I claimNo tears, but tenderness to answer mine. Go where I will, to me thou art the same, A loved regret which I would not resign. There yet are two things in my destiny, A world to roam through, and a home with thee. 

I feel almost, at times, as I have feltIn happy childhood: trees and flowers and brooks, Which do remember me of where I dweltEre my young mind was sacrificed to books;Come as of yore upon me, and can meltMy heart with recognition of their looks;And even, at moments, I could think I seeSome living thing to love, but none like thee. 

Oh that thou wert but with me! but I growThe fool of my own wishes, and forgetThe solitude which I have vaunted soHas lost its praise in this but one regret. 

The last intelligible words of Byron were, "Augusta, Ada, my sister, my child. "

It would be hard to find a friendship more deeply rooted, moreinclusive of the lives of the parties, proof against terribletrials, full of quiet fondness and substantial devotion, than thatof Charles Lamb and his sister Mary. The earliest writtenexpression of this attachment occurs in a sonnet "To my Sister, "composed by Charles in a lucid interval, when he was confined inthe asylum at Hoxton for the six weeks of his single attack ofinsanity. 

Thou to me didst ever showKindest affection; and wouldst oft-times lendAn ear to the desponding love-sick lay, Weeping my sorrows with me, who repayBut ill the mighty debt of love I owe, Mary, to thee, my sister and my friend. 

Mary was ten years older than Charles, and, as is shown well inTalfourd's "Final Memorials, " loved him with an affection combining amother's care, a sister's tenderness, and a friend's ferventsympathy. Nor did he, in return, fall short in any respect. Heappreciated her devotion, pitied her sorrow, responded to herfeelings, revered her worth, and ministered to her wants with aloving gentleness, a patient self-sacrifice, and an heroic fortitude, which, as we gaze on his image, make the halo of the saint and thecrown of the martyr alternate with the wrinkles of his weaknesses andhis mirth. In one of her periodical paroxysms of madness, Mary struckher mother dead with a knife. Charles was then twenty-two, full ofhope and ambition, enthusiastically attached to Coleridge, and inlove with a certain "fair-haired maid, " named Anna, to whom he hadwritten some verses. This fearful tragedy altered and sealed hisfate. He felt it to be his duty to devote himself thenceforth to hisunhappy sister. He abandoned every thought of marriage, gave up hisdreams of fame, and turned to his holy charge, with a chastened butresolute soul. "She for whom he gave up all, " De Vincy says, "in turngave up all for him. And of the happiness, which for forty years ormore he had, no hour seemed true that was not derived from her. " Henever thought his sacrifice of youth and love gave him any licensefor caprice towards her or exactions from her. He always wrote of heras his better self, his wiser self, a generous benefactress, of whomhe was hardly worthy. "Of all the people I ever saw in the world, mypoor sister is the most thoroughly devoid of the least tincture ofselfishness. " He was happy when she was well and with him. His greatsorrow was to be obliged so often to part from her on the recurrencesof her attacks. "To say all that I know of her would be more than Ithink anybody could believe or even understand. It would be sinningagainst her feelings to go about to praise her; for I can concealnothing I do from her. All my wretched imperfections I cover tomyself by resolutely thinking on her goodness. She would share lifeand death, heaven and hell, with me. She lives but for me. " Theirhearts and lives were blended for forty years. Mary was unconsciousat the time of her brother's death, and the blow was mercifullydeadened in her gradual recovery. In her sunset walks she wouldinvariably lead her friends towards the churchyard where Charles waslaid. Their common friend Moxon paints the touching scene:

Here sleeps beneath this bank, where daisies grow, The kindliest sprite earth holds within her breast. Her only mate is now the minstrel lark, Save she who comes each evening, ere the barkOf watch-dog gathers drowsy folds, to shedA sister's tears. 

Eleven years later, this memorable friendship, so sacred to all whoknew it, was consummated for earth, as a few reverential survivorsentered the shadow of Edmonton Church, and, coming away, left Maryand Charles Lamb sleeping in the same grave. 

The union of Felix and Fanny Mendelssohn was something wonderful, like the wonderful genius of sensibility and music which endowed themboth. Such pure, tender, and noble souls are made for each other. Themore fervid and exacting bonds of marriage and parentage did notinterfere with the profound sympathy in which they lived, both whentogether and when apart. They corresponded in music. Their emotions, too deep and strange to be conveyed in words, like articulatethoughts, they expressed in tones. Seating themselves at theirinstruments, they would for hours carry on an intercourse perfectlyintelligible to each other, and more adequate and delicious than anyvocal conversation. When Felix, at Naples, at Rome, or in London, sent to Fanny a letter composed in notes, she translated it firstwith her eyes, then with her piano. The most charming transcripts ofthese affectionate and musical souls were thus made in music. Sweeteror more divinely gifted beings have rarely appeared on this earth. Their relations of spirit were sensitive and organic, far beneath thereach of intellectual consciousness. They seemed able to communicatetidings through the ethereal medium by some subtile telegraphy offeeling, which transcends understanding, and belongs to a miraculousregion of life. For, when Fanny died in her German home, Felix, amidst a happy company in England, suddenly aware of some terriblecalamity, from the disturbance of equilibrium and dread sinking ofhis soul, rushed to the piano, and poured out his anguish in animprovisation of wailing and mysterious strains, which held theassembly spell-bound and in tears. In a few days a letter reachedhim, announcing that his sister had died at that very hour. Onreceiving the tidings, he uttered a shriek, and the shock was sogreat as to burst a blood-vessel in his brain. Life had no charmpotent enough to stanch and heal the cruel laceration left in hisalready failing frame by this sundering blow. The web of torn fibrilsbled invisibly. He soon faded away, and followed his sister to aworld of finer melody, fitted for natures like theirs. 

One of the noblest and wisest of the American poets the pure, brave, and devout Whittier had a sister who was to him very much whatDorothy was to Wordsworth. Several of her poems are printed with his. They always lived together; they studied together, rambled together, had a large share of their whole consciousness together. After herdeath, sitting alone in his wintry cottage, he said to a friend whowas visiting him, that, since she was gone, to whose faithful tasteand judgment he had been wont to submit all he wrote, he could hardlytell of a new production whether it were good or poor. He also saidthat the sad measure of his love for her was the vacancy which herdeparture had left. He has paid her, in his "Snow-Bound, " thistribute, which will draw readers as long as loving hearts are left inhis land:

As one who held herself a partOf all she saw, and let her heartGainst the household bosom lean, Upon the motley-braided matOur youngest and our dearest sat, Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, Now bathed within the fadeless greenAnd holy peace of Paradise. Oh! looking from some heavenly hill, Or from the shade of saintly palms, Or silver reach of river calms, Do those large eyes behold me still?With me one little year ago: The chillweight of the winter snowFor months upon her grave has lain;And now, when summer south-winds blowAnd brier and harebell bloom again, I tread the pleasant paths we trod, I see the violet-sprinkled sodWhereon she leaned, too frail and weakThe hillside flowers she loved to seek, Yet following me where'er I went, With dark eyes full of love's content. The birds are glad; the brier-rose fillsThe air with sweetness; all the hillsStretch green to June's unclouded sky;But still I wait with ear and eyeFor something gone which should be nigh, A loss in all familiar things, In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. And yet, dear heart! remembering thee, Am I not richer than of old?Safe in thy immortality, What change can reach the wealth I hold?What chance can mar the pearl and goldThy love hath left in trust with me?And while in life's late afternoon, Where cool and long the shadows grow, I walk to meet the night that soonShall shape and shadow overflow, I cannot feel that thou art far, Since near at need the angels are;And when the sunset gates unbar, Shall I not see thee waiting stand, And, white against the evening star, The welcome of thy beckoning hand?

One more instance of intense friendship between a brother and asister and it is one of the most interesting that history reveals tous shall close this list. Maurice de Guérin was born in Languedoc, inFrance, in the year 1811; and there also, in 1839, he died. Althoughsnatched away at twenty-eight, his fascinating personality and geniusleft an indelible impression on all appreciative persons who had comein contact with him. His writings, few and unelaborate as they are, have won admiring praise from the judges whose verdict is fame. Hissister Eugénie, six years older than himself, took the place ofmother as well as that of sister to the orphan boy. He was not moreextraordinary for winsomeness and talent than she was for combinedpower of intelligence, tenacity of affection, and religiousness ofprinciple. They became ardent friends, in the most emphatic meaningof the term. Maurice went to Paris to try his fortune as a writer. Eugénie's yearning and anxious heart followed him in rapid letters. She tells him how they whom he has left all love him, encourages himwith virtue and piety, adjures him to be true to his best self. Shesays to him, with the irresistible eloquence of the heart, "We seethings with the same eyes: what you find beautiful, I find beautiful. God has made our souls of one piece. " Maurice's replies were shorterand rarer. It is evident, the reader feels it with a pang of regret, that Eugénie was much less to Maurice than he was to her; and yet heloved her well. But man's love is usually poor compared with woman's;and he was in the throngs of Paris, she in the solitude of a countryhome. He fell away from his original purity and constancy, lost hisreligious faith for a season, and seemed almost to forget those whoidolized him with such deep fondness. Was he not one of the charmers, who are so much to others, but to whom others are in returncomparatively so little?

Falling ill, he revisited home, and by the stainless affections, unwearied attentions, and devout routine there, was restored in soulas well as in body. When, not long afterwards, he had fallen in lovewith a West-Indian lady, a beautiful Creole, Eugénie went to him inParis, and devoted herself sedulously to promote the marriage. It wasbrought about, and she spent a happy six months with the wedded pair. After her return to Languedoc, we find her writing in her journal, "My Maurice, must it be our lot to live apart? to find that thismarriage, which I hoped would keep us so much together, leaves usmore asunder than ever? I have the misfortune to be fonder of youthan of any thing else in the world, and my heart had from of oldbuilt in you its happiness. Youth gone, and life declining, I lookedforward to quitting the scene with Maurice. At any time of life, agreat affection is a great happiness: the spirit comes to take refugein it entirely. Oh, delight and joy, which will never be yoursister's portion! Only in the direction of God shall I find an issuefor my heart to love, as it has the notion of loving, and as it hasthe power of loving. "

Two months after these pathetic words were written, Maurice died, ofa rapid consumption, in his father's house, ministered to by his wifeand sisters with infinite tenderness and agonizing despair. In thelast moment, his sister says, "He glued his lips to a cross that hiswife held out to him, then sank: we all fell to kissing him, and heto dying. " The shock came upon Eugénie with crushing severity. Everafter, she was haunted by the memory of "his beloved, pale face, ""his beautiful head. " Long afterwards, she wrote, "The whole of to-dayI see pass and repass before me that dear, pale face: thatbeautiful head assumes all its various aspects in my memory, smiling, eloquent, suffering, dying. " "Poor, beloved soul, " she says, "youhave had hardly any happiness here below: your life has been soshort, your repose so rare, O God! uphold me. How we have gazed athim and loved him and kissed him, his wife and we, his sisters; helying lifeless in his bed, his head on the pillow as if he wereasleep! My beloved one, can it be, shall we never see each otheragain on earth?"

Five years previous to her brother's death, Eugénie had begun ajournal, which she forwarded to him from time to time. After thefuneral, she tried to continue this, addressing it still to him: "ToMaurice dead, to Maurice in heaven. He was the pride and joy of myheart. Oh, how sweet a name, and how full of tenderness, is that ofbrother!" She persevered for five months, when it became too painful, and she abandoned it. From this time till death overtook her, in theyear 1848, she seemed to have but one purpose; namely, to secureMaurice's fame by the publication of his literary remains. Povertyand various other obstacles baffled all her efforts. But, in 1858, M. Trebutien, a loving and faithful friend, edited and published, in asingle volume, the "Journal and Letters of Maurice de Guérin;" and, five years later, he published, in a companion volume, the "Journaland Letters of Eugénie de Guérin. " The striking original genius andworth of these volumes, and the enviable praise already awarded them, insure for their authors a beautiful and enduring fame together. Aslong as the words of this devoted sister shall win the attention ofgentle readers, tears will spring into their eyes, and a throb ofpitying love fill their hearts with pleasing pain. "My soul slipseasily into thee, O soul of my brother!" "We were two eyes lookingout of one forehead. " "My thought was only a reflex of my brother's;so vivid when he was there, then changing into twilight, and nowgone. " "O beautiful past days of my youth, with Maurice, the king ofmy heart!" "I am on the horizon of death: he is below it. All that Ican do is to strain my gaze into it. "

FRIENDSHIPS OF WIVES AND HUSBANDS. 

THE friendships between persons of opposite sex, thus far considered, spring up under the primary impulse of consanguinity, and embroiderthemselves around the fostering relations of natural duty. Based onaffiliation of descent, organic community of circumstances, andmixture of experience, and sanctioned by the most authoritative sealsof social opinion, they are, when not impoverished or poisoned by anyevil interference, warm, precious, and sacred. The strongestpreventives of their frequency and the commonest drawbacks from theirpower are the dullness which creeps over all emotions under thedominion of passive habit, and the tendency to look elsewhere formore vivid attachments, more exciting associations. 

But there is another class of friendships, more important ininfluence, if not in number, having also the highest sanctions bothof law and of custom, and marked by such peculiarities that theyconstitute a species by themselves. It consists of the friendshipswhich grow up between husbands and wives, within the shieldedenclosure of matrimony. The community of interests between thoseunited in wedlock if they are married in truth as well as in form isthe most intimate and entire that can exist. 

Their unqualified surrender and blending of lives, unreservedconfidence and conjunction of hearts, afford, on the one hand, themost hazardous, on the other hand, the most propitious, conditionsfor a perfect mutual reflection of souls with all their contents. Nowhere else has knowledge such free scope, have the inducements foresteem or contempt such unhampered range, as in this relation. Theinmost secrets of the parties are always exposed to revelation or tobetrayal. Hypocrisy and deception are reduced to the narrowestlimits. Accordingly, both the most absolute antagonism and misery, and the most absolute sympathy and happiness, are known in theconjugal union. Milton puts in the mouth of Samson a fearfulexpression of the former:

To wear out miserable days, Intangled with a poisonous bosom snake. 

Of the latter we have an affecting instance in the historic narrativeof that Italian Countess del Verme, who, losing her husband after anelysian union for eight years, was so shocked on learning his death, that she threw herself on his body in a convulsion of grief whichbroke her heart, and she instantly died beside him. 

Are the parties selfish, unfeeling, ungenuine? Every possibleopportunity is afforded for the base and alien qualities to recognizeeach other, and clash or effervesce. Is one wise, aspiring, magnanimous? the other, foolish, vulgar, revengeful? The yoke, pulledcontrary ways, must gall and irritate. Then the fellowship of husbandand wife is like that of acid and alkali. But, if they are filledwith consecrating tenderness, sweet patience, and earnest purposes, all possible motives urge them to adjust their characters and conductto each other; to tune their intercourse by heavenly laws; to mingletheir experience in one blessed current; to soothe, support, andbeautify each other's being. Then there results a union, includingevery faculty, satisfying every want, unparalleled for its integrityand its blessedness. In such cases as this, it may truly be said, marriage is the queen of all friendships. 

A beautiful example of such a union is unveiled, in the tribute paidto his wife, by Sir James Mackintosh. He says, "I found anintelligent companion and a tender friend, a prudent monitress, themost faithful of wives, and a mother as tender as children ever hadthe misfortune to lose. I met a woman, who, by tender management ofmy weaknesses, gradually corrected the most pertinacious of them. Shebecame prudent from affection; and, though of the most generousnature, she was taught frugality and economy by her love for me. Shegently reclaimed me from dissipation, propped my weak and irresolutenature, urged my indolence to all the exertion that has been usefuland creditable to me, and was perpetually at hand to admonish myheedlessness or improvidence. In her solicitude for my interest, shenever for a moment forgot my feelings or character. Even in heroccasional resentment, for which I but too often gave her cause, (would to God I could recall those moments!) she had no sullenness oracrimony. Such was she whom I have lost, when her excellent naturalsense was rapidly improving, after eight years' struggle and distresshad bound us fast together and moulded our tempers to each other;when a knowledge of her worth had refined my youthful love intofriendship, and before age had deprived it of much of its originalardor. "

It is to be presumed that those who enter into a relation with eachother on which so much of their destiny is staked, take the stepunder the influence of love. And by love the love which looks to aconjugal union is to be understood a general movement of personalsympathy, imparting a special richness and intensity to theimagination in its action toward the individuals concerned, and thusgiving each of them a genial and generous idea of the other to governtheir mutual references; the whole operation being animated andemphasized, more or less prominently, by the impulse of sex. The ideaof each other with which the wedded pair begin their union, an ideaennobled and vivified by imagination, and serving as the basis andstimulus of their love, may be largely made up of illusions, or maybe sound, though inadequate. In the former case, one of three resultswill follow, either, as the poetic illusions are dispelled, and thefancied charms of the soul are replaced by barren poverty or haggardugliness, the ardor of affection will be reversed by disappointmentand friction into antipathy, engendering a chronic state, sometimesof fierce hatred, sometimes of sullen dislike; or that affection, robbed of its moral supports, admiration, gratitude, faith, anddesire, will subside into a condition of spiritual tedium, unnoticingroutine; or else, the imaginative element dying out, while the sexualelement retains or perhaps even exaggerates its force, love willdegenerate into lust. These three results depict the real unionsubsisting between three classes of husbands and wives, when thehymeneal glow has passed, and fixed realities assert their sway. Thefirst is a hideous association of enemies, a yoked animosity; thesecond, a lukewarm connection of colleagues, an external partnership;the third, a convenient alliance of pleasure seekers, an animalcohabitation. 

But that imaginative stir which lends such ardor and elevation to thehoneymoon period is not always a fermentation of happy error. It ismany times a fruition of beauty and good, resting on a perception ofrealities, growing greater, lovelier, more efficacious, with thegrowing powers and opportunities for appreciation. In these cases, where the divine bias which causes the newly wedded twain to put abeautiful interpretation on all the signs of each other's beingdepends not on illusion, but originates in truth, and where no fatalalloy or shock interferes to destroy it, the blessed affection inwhich they live together, instead of souring into aversion, stagnating into indifference, or sinking to a baser level than itbegan on, will naturally triumph over other changes, and grow morecomprehensive and noble, as enlarged experiences disclose vastergrounds for justifying it, and furnish finer stimulants to feed it. In such instances, the beautifying tinges of romance, that streak andflush the horizon, neither fade into the grayness of fact, nor dieinto the darkness of neglect, but now broaden and deepen into theblue of meridian assurance, now clarify and ascend into the starlightof faith and mystery. The conditions that originally inspired theconfiding and admiring sympathy become, with the lapse of time andthe progress of acquaintance, more pronounced and more adequate, andinsure a union ever fonder and more blunt. A husband and wife sounited generally remain a pair of lovers, but sometimes become a pairof friends. Which of these two names is most descriptive of the uniondepends on the relative space held in it by the element of sense andsex. With some this ingredient is so important, that it infuses itsquality into their very thoughts, and gives the distinctive characterof love to their whole relation. With others this feature in themarriage fellowship becomes relatively less as the heyday of youthsubsides, and the moral and mental bonds become more various andextensive. The physical tie, however vital, is insignificant incomparison with the entire web of their conscious ties. Love isincluded in their whole relation, as a rivulet threading a lake. Thissubordination of the stream to the lake is surest to take place withthose in whom pure mind most predominates, whose spirit is leastroiled by the perturbation of the senses. With such it is almost anecessity, when hate or indifference does not intervene, that loveshould refine into friendship. As the ferment of passion ceases, thelees settle, and a transparent sympathy appears, reflecting allheavenly and eternal things. 

As an example of the transmutation of passion into sentiment, ofimpulse into principle, of feverish flame into calm fire, we mayinstance the Greek Pericles and Aspasia, who were friends even morethan lovers, their intellectual companionship and common pursuit ofculture being one of the precious traditions of humanity. Grote, whose learning, ability, and fairness give weight to his opinion, affirms his belief that the vile charges brought against Aspasia werethe offspring of lying gossip and scandal. The estimate of hertalents and accomplishments was so high that the authorship of thegreatest speech ever delivered by Pericles was attributed to her. Sheis also particularly interesting to us as the first woman who kept anopen parlor for the visits of chosen friends and the culture ofconversation, as the earliest queen of the drawing room. Her housewas the centre of the highest literary and philosophical society ofAthens. Socrates himself was a constant visitor there. There too, asPlutarch asserts, many of the most distinguished Athenian matronswere wont to go with their husbands for the pleasure and profit ofher conversation. 

In Roman history we may point to Brutus and his heroic Portia, whowas fully capable of entering into all his counsels, dangers, andhopes, and, when he fell, of dying as became the daughter of Cato. The characters of the noble and Arria were likewise in perfectaccord, in their high strains of wisdom, valor, and virtue; and whenthe brutal emperor, Claudius, commanded the death of her husband, thewife, stabbing herself, handed him the dagger, with the immortalwords, "Brutus, it does not hurt. "

Seneca and his Paulina were bound together by community of tastes andacquirements, and unbroken happiness. He asks, "What can be sweeterthan to be so dear to your wife that it makes you dearer toyourself?" When the tyrant ordered the philosopher to commit suicide, his wife insisted on opening her veins, and dying with him. Afterlong resistance, he consented, saying, "I will not deprive you of thehonor of so noble an example. " But Nero would not allow her to diethus, and had her veins bound up; not, however, until she had lost somuch blood that her blanched face, for the rest of her days, gaverise to the well known rhetorical comparison, "as pale as Seneca'sPaulina. "

Calpurnia, likewise, the wife of the younger Pliny, was identifiedwith her husband in all his studies, ambitions, triumphs. Shefashioned herself after his pattern, knew his works by heart, sanghis verses, listened behind a screen to his public speeches, drinkingin the applauses lavished on him. We may justly infer from the whalecharacter of the "Letter of Consolation, " which he wrote to her, onoccasion of the death of their beloved daughter, Timoxena, that arelation similar to the one just mentioned subsisted between Plutarchand his wife. 

By friendship in marriage is meant companionship of inner lives, community of aims and efforts, the lofty concord of aspiring minds. These are comparatively few, as made known to us in classicantiquity, owing to the jealous separation of the sexes in sociallife, that strict subjection of woman to man, which wascharacteristic of the ancient world. If we were thinking of weddedlove instead of wedded friendship, it would be easy to cull a host ofaffecting and imposing instances: such as, the Hebrew Rebekah andRachel; the Greek Alcestis; the Hindu Savitri; the Persian Pantheia;and a glorious crowd of Roman matrons, like Lucretia, who have left arenown as grand and deathless as the memory of Rome itself. 

The modern examples of fortunate friendship in marriage are morenumerous than the ancient ones. Two delightful instances, particularly worthy of study, have been so fully described by Mrs. Jameson as to make superfluous any thing more than a slight allusionhere. The first of these pairs is the early English poet, WilliamHabington, and his Castara. Habington collected and published, in tworich parts, the poems he wrote to Castara before and after hismarriage, and added a preface full of choice thought and heartfeltemotion. By her husband's pen, Castara's nameIs writ as fair in the register of fameAs the ancient beauties, which translated are, By poets, up to heaven, each there a star. 

The illustrious Roman lawyer, Giambattista Zappi, and FaustinaMaratti were the other pair alluded to, whose wedded love was crownedwith a superior friendship. Zappi is celebrated for his sublimesonnet on the Moses of Michael Angelo. But the most of his verseswere inspired by his wife, and dedicated to her. Her verses werealmost exclusively inspired by her husband, and dedicated to him. Their works are published together in one volume. 

Roland, the famous Girondist minister, a man of marked abilities andincorruptible integrity, married the gifted and high souled JeannePhilippon a short time before the outbreak of the French Revolution. He was twenty two years her senior. Her love for him, founded on hisphilosophic spirit and antique virtues, was so ardent and so faithfulthat she has often been called "the Heloise of the eighteenthcentury. " Their principles, their souls, their hopes, their toils andsufferings, were alike and inseparable. They hailed the early effortsof the Revolutionists as the dawn of a golden age for mankind. MadameRoland shared in the studies of her husband, aided him in hiscompositions, and served as his sole secretary during his twoministries. No intrigue of his party was unknown to her, oruninfluenced by her genius. Yet no falsehood or trickery debased, nomeanness sullied her. "She was the angel of the cause she espoused, the soul of honor, and the conscience of all who embraced it. " WhenRobespierre overthrew the Girondists, Roland, with others of hisparty, saved his life by a flight to Rouen. His wife was soonsentenced to death by the infamous Fouquier Tinville. She rode to theguillotine clad in white, her glossy black hair hanging down to hergirdle, and embraced her fate with divine courage and dignity. Hearing the direful news, Roland walked a few miles out of Rouen, anddeliberately killed himself with his cane sword. His body was foundby the roadside, with a paper containing his last words: "Whoeverthou art that findest these remains, respect them as those of a manwho consecrated his life to usefullness, and who dies, as he haslived, honest and virtuous. Hearing of the death of my wife, I wouldnot remain another day on this earth so stained with crimes. "

All appreciative readers of the works and the life of Herdergratefully associate his Caroline with their recollections of him. Under the stress of his many sore trials, this great, vexed, struggling, sorrowing man would have succumbed to his afflictions, and entered the grave much earlier than he did, if it had not beenfor the solace and strength his wife gave him at home; and not alittle of his present celebrity is due to the devoted energy of prideand affection with which she labored to have justice done to hiswritings and his memory. 

A spotless and exalted pair of friends look out of English history atus, in the faces of John and Lucy Hutchinson. He was governor ofNottingham, and one of the judges of Charles I. In her widowhood, Lady Hutchinson drew that wonderful portrait of her husband which hasbeen styled the most perfect piece of biography ever penned by awoman. 

John Austin, under crushing burdens and amidst freezing neglect, wrought out the profoundest exposition of jurisprudence which existsin the English language. His wife, Sarah Austin, distinguished forher early importation and unveiling of German literature to theEnglish mind, was every thing to him that a tender, wise, and strongfriend could be. In the prefaces to her publications of hisposthumous works, the discerning reader may trace, through the modestconcealment, something of one of the purest, deepest, most steadfastof those friendships which adorn while they enrich the annals ofhuman nature. 

One shrinks from the indelicacy of alluding to persons still living, and yet can hardly help suggesting what a friendship there must havebeen in the union of such scholars, thinkers, poets, aspirants, asRobert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning. But space would fail for alist of the royal friendships of this class revealed in literaryrecords. And, for every example published, there must obviously be amultitude, quite as sweet and grand, which are hidden in purelyprivate life. 

Leopold Schefer, the serene and lofty author of the "Layman'sBreviary, " that charming work just published in our country in thefine translation of Charles T. Brooks, lost his wife in the twentyfifth year of their marriage. What a friend he had in her appearsfrom the simple words, surcharged with feeling, in which he speaks ofher. He writes, "Only a single unconquerable sorrow has smitten me inall my life, the death of the still soul with whom life, for thefirst time, was to me a life. Nor have I had any other troubles. People who make trouble for themselves, and in an unappeased spiritfind an everlasting misery, may properly call me still a fortunateman. But, though outwardly as much grass should grow over her graveas ever can grow in long desolated days and nights, inwardly no grassgrows over a real life annihilating grief. One gets re adjusted withthe world; but, after all, he goes at last with an open wound intothe grave. Believe me in this. "

An example yet more recent has obtained such a monumentalrecognition, that mention of it is not here to be avoided. JohnStuart Mill dedicates his imperishable "Essay on Liberty" to hisdeceased wife in these terms:

"To the beloved and deplored memory of her who was the inspirer, andin part the author, of all that is best in my writings, the friendand wife whose exalted sense of truth and right was my strongestincitement, and whose approbation was my chief reward, I dedicatethis volume. Like all that I have written for many years, it belongsas much to her as to me; but the work, as it stands, has had, in avery insufficient degree, the inestimable advantage of her revision;some of the most important portions having been reserved for a morecareful re examination, which they are now never destined to receive. Were I but capable of interpreting to the world one half the greatthoughts and noble feelings which are buried in her grave, I shouldbe the medium of a greater benefit to it than is ever likely to arisefrom any thing that I can write unprompted and unassisted by her allbut unrivalled wisdom. "

The conditions favoring the formation of a consummate friendshipbetween husband and wife meet in fortunate combination in two classesof instances. 

In the first, the sovereignty is the bond of a common nobleness; inthe second, the bond of a common ambition. The united worship oftruth, beauty, goodness, make, it is to be hoped, the most absolutefriends of unnumbered wedded pairs. One adoring pursuit ofexcellence, one devout trust in God, one happy aiming at perfection, draws their noblest activities into unison, free from the impedimentsof selfishness and suspicion. Under the over arching sanctions ofDivinity, knowing each other to be worthy and true, they confide ineach other with the sympathy of a total esteem, based on a commondevotion to the supreme prizes of the universe, whose reflectedlustre already transfigures their spirits and sanctifies theirpersons in each other's eyes. 

Many a husband and wife are also made friends, above all their merelove, by sharing in some earnest and condign social ambition. Howmany a man of genius has been chiefly indebted for his achievementsto the wife who has sedulously identified herself with his success, ever at his side, unseen perhaps by the world, studying his art, lightening his tasks, soothing his pride, healing his hurts, stimulating his confidence, baffling his enemies, gaining him patronsor allies, assuaging his falls, refreshing his energy for new trials, and, when he has triumphed, and is applauded on his eminence, silently drinking in, as her reward, the popular admiration bestowedon him. 

This intense co operation and struggle towards an outer goal, whenunneutralized, produces that wondrous identification which is thetype of complete friendship. A crowd of the most brilliant artists, authors, statesmen, might each point to his wife, and say, "To thatbosom friend, to that guardian angel, to her quick intelligence, unfailing consolation, steady stimulus, I principally owe, underHeaven, what I am and what I have done. " Many beautiful delineationsof this fact have been given in fiction. The picture of Lord and LadyDavenant, in Miss Edgeworth's "Helen, " is worthy of particularmention as a picture drawn to the life. 

Nothing in fiction, however, is finer or more commanding, as anexample of the true relation of the sexes, than is afforded in reallife by the biography of Lord William and Lady Russell. Every suchhistoric instance has a benign lesson for our time, in which, it isto be feared, many bad influences are working with fatal effect, temporarily at least, to lessen the attractions and undermine thesanctity of marriage, Guizot ends his beautiful and noble essay onthe married life of Lord and Lady Russell with this impressiveparagraph:

"I have felt profound pleasure in relating the history of this lady, so pure in her passion, always great and always humble in hergreatness, devoted with equal ardor to her feelings and her duties ingrief and joy, in triumph and adversity. Our times are attacked witha deplorable malady: men believe only in the passion which isattended with moral derangement. All ardent, exalted, and soulmastering sentiments appear to them impossible within the bounds ofmoral laws and social conventions. All order seems to them aparalyzing yoke, all submission a debasing servitude: no flame is anything, if it is not a devouring conflagration. This disease is thegraver because it is not the crisis of a fever nor the explosion ofan exuberant force. It springs from perverse doctrines, from therejection of law and faith, from the idolatry of man. And with thisdisease there is joined another no less lamentable: man not onlyadores nothing but himself, but even himself he adores only in themultitude where all men are confounded. He hates and envies everything that rises above the vulgar level: all superiority, allindividual grandeur, seems to him an iniquity, an injury towards thatchaos of undistinguished and ephemeral beings whom he calls humanity. When we have been assailed by these base doctrines, and the shamefulpassions which give birth to or are born from them; when we have feltthe hatefullness of them, and measured the peril, it is a livelydelight to meet with one of those noble examples which are theirsplendid confutation. In proportion as I respect humanity in itstotality, I admire and love those glorified images of humanity whichpersonify and set on high, under visible features and with a propername, whatever it has of most noble and most pure. Lady Russell givesthe soul this beautiful and virtuous joy. "

It is fitting, in the next place, to say something of thedisappointment and wretchedness which so many married men and womennotoriously experience in their relations with each other. It may beuseful to state the principal causes of this unhappiness, and to givesome definite directions in the way of remedy. Absence of love, absence of reason, absence of justice, absence of taste, in otherwords, harshness and neglect, silliness and frivolity, vice andcrime, vulgarity and slovenliness, are the leading and inevitablecreators of alienation, dislike, and misery in marriage. Whatevertends to increase these tends to multiply separations and divorcesbetween those who cannot endure each other; and to multiplyirritations, quarrels, sorrows, and agonies between those who mayendure, but cannot enjoy, each other. In marriage, the intimacy is sogreat and constant that the slightest friction easily becomesgalling. Nowhere beside is there such need of magnanimous forbearancein one, or else of equality of worth and refinement in both. "Lovedoes not secure happiness in marriage, often the contrary: reason isnecessary. " So said the wise Jean Paul. He also said, "The best manjoined with the worst woman has a greater hell than the best womanjoined with the worst man. " This is, no doubt, true as a generalrule, because woman is so much more capable than man of selfabnegation, silent patience, meek submission, and flexible adjustmentto inevitable circumstances. Probably the women who keenly andchronically suffer from unhappy marriages are far more numerous thanthe kindred sufferers of the other sex. This is because they are moredeeply susceptible to cruelty and indifference and to all therepulsive traits of character; are less capable of ignoring suchthings; have less of absorbing occupation of their own to take uptheir attention, and are less able to be absorbed in things beyondthe personal and domestic sphere. There are unquestionably thousandsof married women whose experience is made a living martyrdom by theinfidelity, the tyranny, the coarseness, the general odiousness andwearisomeness of their husbands. In most cases, even where a divorceis wished, the shocking public scandal and disgrace are too much; andthey wear on to the end. What misery delicate and conscientiouswomen, of dedicated souls and polished manners, who love every thingthat is pure and beautiful, are compelled to undergo in their bondageto husbands, ignorant, uninteresting, ignoble, relentlesslydomineering, is not to be expressed. Their best weapons in suchcases, if they knew it, are gentleness, patience, persuasion, and theskilful use of every means to improve and uplift their unequalcompanions to their own level. The Persian poet expressed a richtruth when he wrote, "Gentleness is the sail on the table of morals. "It is a tragedy that the good wife of a bad husband is so identifiedwith him, that the penalties of his offences fall on her head, oftenmore terribly than on his. A pure woman loving a wicked man mustexpect to have her affections ravaged by his sins: does not thelightning drawn by the rod blast the innocent ivy entwining it? Whatlacerating woes the gambler, the drunkard, the forger, the adulterer, inflicts on his wife!

And yet, profound as is the misfortune, sharp as is the suffering ofsuch, it may be doubted whether a noble, sensitive, cultivated man, with a yearning heart of softness and peace, a capacious mind full ofgrand aspirations, married, by some fatal chance, to a woman with apetty soul, a teasing and tyrannical temper, a mendacious and raspingtongue, whose taste is for small gossip and scandal, whose ambitionis for fashionable show and noise, whose life is one incessant fretand sting, it may be doubted if this man's lot is not severer withhis ill matched consort than hers would be with the worst husband inthe world. He had better marry a vinegar cruet than such a Tartar. When weary and seeking to rest, to be roused up by a scolding; whensearching for truth, or contemplating beauty, or communing with God, or aspiring to perfection, or scheming some vast good for mankind, tobe aggravated by abuse, insulted by false charges, dragged down topetty interests which he despises, and mixed up with wrongs andpassions which he loathes, these degrading injuries, these wastefulvexations, are what he must endure. No wonder if he vehementlyresents a treatment so incongruous with his worth. No wonder if, vexed, hurt, goaded half to madness, he gets enraged, and unseemlycontentions ensue, followed by painful depression and remorsefulgrief. No wonder if he finds it hard indeed to forget or to forgivethe infliction of an evil so incomparably profound and frightful. There is, to a high smiled man, no wrong more hurtful or moredifficult to pardon than to have mean motives falsely ascribed tohim, to be placed by misinterpretation on a lower plane than thatwhere he belongs. Every such experience stabs the moral source oflife, and draws blood from the soul itself. Husband and wifepowerfully tend to a common level and likeness. The higher mustredeem and lift the unequal mate, or live in strife and misery. Ifthe lower takes pattern after the superior one, the petty, frivolous, false, and fretful becoming magnanimous, dedicated, truthful, andserene, it is a divine triumph of grace, and the result will be fullof blessedness. But otherwise a wearing unhappiness is inevitable, however carefully it be hidden, however bravely it be borne. GeorgeSand says very strikingly of Rousseau and Therese Levasseur, "Histrue fault was in persevering in his attachment for that vulgarwoman, who turned to her own profit the weaknesses of his ill starredcharacter and his self torturing imagination. One does not withimpunity live in company with a little soul. When one is a JeanJacques Rousseau, one does not acquire the faults of littleness, doesnot lose his native grandeur; but he feels his genius troubled, combated, worried, distempered, and he makes a pure loss of immenseefforts to surmount miseries unworthy of him. "

Let a husband be the true and pure guardian of his family, laboringalways to adorn himself with the godlike gems of wisdom, virtue, andhonor; let him bear himself in relation to his wife with graciouskindness towards her faults, with grateful recognition of her merits, with steady sympathy for her trials, with hearty aid for her betteraspirations, and she must be of a vile stock, if she does not reverehim, and minister unto him with all the graces and sweetness of hernature. 

Let a wife, in her whole intercourse with her husband, try theefficacy of gentleness, purity, sincerity, scrupulous truth, meek andpatient forbearance, an invariable tone and manner of deference, and, if he is not a brute, he cannot help respecting her and treating herkindly; and in nearly all instances he will end by loving her andliving happily with her. 

But if he is vulgar and vicious, despotic, reckless, so as to have nodevotion for the august prizes and incorruptible pleasures ofexistence; if she is an unappeasable termagant, or a petty worrier, so taken up with trifling annoyances, that, wherever she looks, "theblue rotunda of the universe shrinks into a housewifery room;" if thepresence of each acts as a morbid irritant on the nerves of theother, to the destruction of comfort, and the lowering of selfrespect, and the draining away of peace and strength, theircompanionship must infallibly be a companionship in wretchedness andloss. 

The banes of domestic life are littleness, falsity, vulgarity, harshness, scolding vociferation, an incessant issuing of superfluousprohibitions and orders, which are regarded as impertinentinterferences with the general liberty and repose, and areprovocative of rankling or exploding resentments. The blessedantidotes that sweeten and enrich domestic life are refinement, highaims, great interests, soft voices, quiet and gentle manners, magnanimous tempers, forbearance from all unnecessary commands ordictation, and generous allowances of mutual freedom. Love makesobedience lighter than liberty. Man wears a noble allegiance, not asa collar, but as a garland. The Graces are never so lovely as whenseen waiting on the Virtues; and, where they thus dwell together, they make a heavenly home. 

No affection, save friendship, has any sure eternity in it. Friendship ought, therefore, always to be cultivated in love itself, as its only certain guard and preservative, not less than as the onlysufficing substitute in its absence. A couple joined by love withoutfriendship, walk on gunpowder with torches in their hands. Shall Iventure to depict the sad decay which love naturally suffers, and theredemptive transformation which it sometimes undergoes? I will do itby translating a truthful and eloquent passage from Chateaubriand:

"At first our letters are long, vivid, frequent. The day is notcapacious enough for them. We write at sunset; at moonrise we trace afew more lines, charging its chaste and silent light to hide ourthousand desires. We watch for the first peep of dawn, to write whatwe believe we had forgotten to say in the delicious hours of ourmeeting. A thousand vows cover the paper, where all the roses ofaurora are reflected; a thousand kisses are planted on the words, which seem born from the first glance of the sun. Not an idea, animage, a reverie, an accident, a disquietude, which has not itsletter. Lo! one morning, something almost imperceptible steals on thebeauty of this passion, like the first wrinkle on the front of anadored woman. The breath and perfume of love expire in these pages ofyouth, as an evening breeze dies upon the flowers. We feel it, butare unwilling to confess it. Our letters become shorter and fewer, are filled with news, with descriptions, with foreign matters; and, if any thing happens to delay them, we are less disturbed. On thesubject of loving and being loved, we have grown reasonable. Wesubmit to absence without complaint. Our former vows prolongthemselves: here are still the same words; but they are dead. Soul iswanting in them. I love you is merely an expression of habit, anecessary form, the I have the honor to be of the love letter. Littleby little the style freezes where it inflamed. The post day, nolonger eagerly anticipated, is rather dreaded; writing has become afatigue. We blush to think of the madnesses we have trusted to paper, and wish we could recall our letters and burn them. What hashappened? Is it a new attachment which begins where an old one ends?No: it is love dying in advance of the object loved. We are forced toown that the sentiments of man are subjected to the effects of ahidden process: the fever of time, which produces lassitude, alsodissipates illusion, undermines our passions, withers our loves, andchanges our hearts even as it changes our locks and our years. Thereis but one exception to this human infirmity. There sometimes occursin a strong soul a love firm enough to transform itself intoimpassioned friendship, so as to become a duty, and appropriate thequalities of virtue. Then, neutralizing the weakness of nature, itacquires the immortality of a principle. "

Before leaving this part of the theme, it may not be out of place toexpress the belief, a belief founded on no hurried inference from anarrow survey of history, or from a superficial study of the data inthe breast, that the greatest number of examples of the mostimpassioned, absorbing, and lasting affection between the sexes haveoccurred within the ties of marriage, and not outside of those ties. More than other kindred relations, these rest on the nourishing basisof public law and social honor, as well as of personal esteem andavowed identification of interests. Whatever necessitates secrecy, orcompromises the fullness and frankness of self respect, even if itgive piquancy and fire, takes away moral health, steady integrity;and inserts an insidious element, either of devouring fever or ofslow decay. Other things being equal, affection, wedded under everylegal and moral sanction, reaches the highest climax and is the mostcomplete and enduring. Every failure implies some defect in theconditions. The readiness, in general, of illicit love to admit asubstitute, its facility of consolation and forgetfullness when anyfatal calamity has removed its object, demonstrates both its lowerorigin and its baser nature. In a well consorted marriage, the soul, the mind, esteem and faith, the pure strain of friendship, enter morelargely. The grave is not the boundary of its functions. After death, the love is cherished in the ideal fife of the mind as vividly asever, and with an added sanctity. Widowed memory clings to thedisconsolate happiness of sitting by the fountain of oblivion, anddrawing up the sunken treasure. If, as Statius said, to love theliving be a pleasant indulgence, to love the dead is a religiousduty:

Vivam amare, voluptas; defunctam, religio. 

A multitude of nameless husbands and wives have experienced thistruth in their bereavement; their love not decaying, but passing intoresurrection. The Hindus have a fine parable of Kamadeva, the easternCupid. He shot Siva, who, turning on him in rage, reduced themischievous archer to ashes. All the gods wept over his ashes. Thenhe arose in spiritual form, free from every physical trait orquality. Literature, both eastern and western, ancient and modern, gives us many instances of conjugal love outliving death, and, inholy tenderness of dedication, pleasing itself with all kinds ofideal restorations and celebrations of its object. 

When Mausolus, king of Curia, died, his widow, Queen Artemisia, seemed thenceforth almost wholly absorbed in the memory of him. Shebuilt to him, at Halicarnassus, that magnificent monument, ormausoleum, which was known as one of the seven wonders of the world, and which became the generic name for all superb sepulchres. Sheemployed the most renowned rhetors of the age to immortalize theglory of her husband, by writing and reciting his praises. At theconsecration of the wondrous fabric which she had reared in hishonor, she offered a prize for the most eloquent eulogy on Mausolus. All the orators of Greece were invited to the contest. Theopompusbore off the prize. It is said, that, during the two years by whichshe survived her royal spouse, she daily mixed some of his ashes withher drink, so that, ere their spirits met in Hades, her body was thetomb of his. Unquestionably there is something greatly overstrainedin this; but the whole story is one of the most signal instances, handed down from the past, of an intense wedded affection triumphantover death, and crowning itself with death. 

Still more costly honors than Artemisia lavished on her Mausolus, didthe Great Mogul, Shah Jehan, grandson of Akhar and father ofAurungzebe, pay to his idolized wife, Moomtaza Mahul. She died, in1631, in giving birth to a daughter. Shah Jehan's love for thisexquisite being appears to have been supreme and irreplaceable. Inher last moments, she made two requests: one, that he would build animposing tomb for her; the other, that he would never marry again. Heassented to both requests, and kept his word. His reign was theculminating period of the prosperity, power, and pomp of the empire. The gorgeousness of his state beggars description; but those terribleBritish, destined to overshadow and destroy it, were alreadybeginning to get a foothold in India. Little, however, did theimperial mourner, Shah Jehan, heed them. 

He at once set his architects at work, with twenty thousand laborers, to build over his lost Moomtaza a memorial worthy of her lovelinessand of his grief. For twenty two years they toiled, when, at a costequivalent to twenty million dollars now, unveiled from everydisfiguring accompaniment, rose on the banks of the clear blue Jumna, at Agra, where it still stands to enchant the soul of every travellerwho approaches, the Taj Mahul, the most exquisite building on theglobe, an angelic dream of beauty, materialized, and translated toearth. It is a romance, at once of oriental royalty, of marriage, andof the human heart, that the unrivalled pearl of architecture in allthe world should thus be a tomb reared over the body of his wife bythe proudest monarch of the East. 

Colonel Sleeman says, "Of no building on earth had I heard so much asof this; for over five and twenty years, I had been looking forwardto the sight of it. And, from the first glimpse of the dome andminarets on the distant horizon, to the last glance back from my tentropes to the magnificent gateway, I can truly say that every thingsurpassed my expectations. After going repeatedly over every part, and examining the total view, from every position and in all possiblelights, from that of full moon at midnight in a cloudless sky, tothat of the noonday sun, the mind reposes in the calm persuasion, that there is an entire harmony of parts, a faultless congregation ofarchitectural beauties, on which it could dwell for ever withoutfatigue; and one leaves it with a feeling of regret that he cannothave it all his life within his reach, and of assurance that theimage of what he has seen can never be obliterated from his mindwhile memory holds her seat. "

The quadrangle in which the structure stands is 964 feet one way, 329the other. The area around is laid out in parterres, planted withflowers, blossoming shrubs, and cypresses, interlaced by rows ofbubbling fountains, and avenues paved with freestone slabs. Themausoleum itself, the terrace, and the minarets, are all formed ofthe finest white marble, and thickly inlaid with precious stones. Thefuneral vault is a miracle of coolness, softness, splendor, tenderness, and solemnity. Fergusson, the historian of architecture, says, "No words can express the chastened beauty of that centralchamber, the most graceful and the most impressive of all thesepulchres of the world. " When, in that vault, before the twosarcophagi containing the bodies of Moomtaza and Shah Jehan, thepriest reads the Koran in a sort of mournful chant, or an attendantplays with subdued breathings on a flute, the notes are borne up intothe numerous arcades and domes, reduplicated, intermingled, dyingaway, fainter and fainter, sweeter and sweeter, until the ravishedhearer, as he departs, can remember no more than that the sounds wereheavenly, and produced a heavenly effect, making him feel, that, ifto die were to listen for ever to those tones, death would beinconceivable bliss. 

Russell, in his "Diary in India, " thus records the impression thescene made on him: "Write a description of the Taj! As well write adescription of that lovely dream which flushed the poet's cheek, orgently moved the painter's hand, as he lay trembling with delight, the Endymion of the glorious Art Goddess, who reveals herself andthen floats softly away among the moonbeams and the dew clouds, as hesprings up to grasp the melting form! Here is a dream in marble, theTaj: solid, permanent; but who, with pen or pencil, can convey to himwho has not seen it the exquisite delight with which the structureimbues the mind at the first glance, the proportions and the beautyof this strange loveliness, which rises in the Indian waste, as sometall palm springs by the fountain in a barren wilderness? It is wrongto call it a dream in marble: it is a thought, an idea, a conceptionof tenderness, a sigh of eternal devotion and love, caught and imbuedwith earthly immortality. There it stands in its astonishingperfection, rising from a lofty platform of marble of dazzlingwhiteness, minarets, dome, portals, all shining like a fresh, crispsnow wreath. The proportions of the whole are so full of grace andfeeling, that the mind rests quite contented with the generalimpression, ere it gives a thought to the details of the building, the exquisite screens of marble in the windows, the fretted porches, the arched doorways, from which a shower of fleecy marble, mingledwith a rain of gems, seems about to fall on you; the solid wallsmelting and glowing with tendrils of bright flowers and wreaths ofblood stone, agate, jasper, carnelian, amethyst, snatched, as itwere, from the garden outside, and pressed into the snowy blocks. Enter by the doorway in front: the arched roof of the cupola soarsabove you, and the light falls dimly on the shrine like tombs in thecentre of the glistening marble, see a winter palace, in whoseglacial walls some gentle hand has buried the last flowers ofautumn. " In yon cenotaph, profusely covered with ornamental textsfrom the Koran, sleeps the lamented bride of the Indies. "Her lordlies beside her, in a less costly but loftier casket; and the twotombs are enclosed by a lattice of white marble, which is cut andcarved as though it were of the softest substance in the world. Alight burns in the tombs, and garlands of flowers are laid over therich imitations of themselves. Hark as you whisper gently, thererolls through the obscure vault overhead a murmur like that of thesea on a pebbly beach in summer. A white bearded priest, who neverraises his eyes from his book as we pass, suddenly reads out a versefrom the Koran. Hark! How an invisible choir takes it up, till thereverberated echoes swell into a full volume of sound, as though somecongregation of the skies were chanting their hymns above our heads. The eye fills and the lip quivers, we know not why: a sigh and a tearare the tribute which every heart that can be moved to pity, or hasthrilled with love, must pay to the builder of the Taj. "

Who that reads this tender romance of love and loss, pride and griefand peerless memorial, will not sometimes amidst enchantedrecollections of Nala and Damayanti, Haroun Al Raschid and Zobeide, Shahriar and Scheherazade in his recurring thoughts allow a place forthe imperfectly known but fascinating story of Shah Jehan andMoomtaza Mahul?

PLATONIC LOVE; OR, THE MARRIAGE OF SOULS. 

IN the further consideration of these genial attachments of womenwith persons not of their own sex, we come to those whose relation isthat of a wholly free and elective friendship, a friendship with nointermixture either of hereditary connections or of familyobligations. This brings us directly to an examination of thatspecies of affection celebrated through the world as Platonic love;on which so many false judgments, inadequate judgments, coarsejudgments, have been pronounced by partial observers and critics. If, in this discussion of the relations of affection between men andwomen, delicate topics are handled, and some things said from which asqueamish reader may shrink, the vital importance of the matter andthe motive of the treatment furnish the only needful apology. Pruderyis the parsimony of a shrivelled heart, and is scarcely worthy ofrespect. The subject of the relations of sentiment and passionbetween the sexes has paramount claims on our attention. It actuallyoccupies a foremost place in the thoughts of most persons. It isconstantly handled in the most unrestrained banter on the stage andin all the provinces of fictitious literature. Almost everysensational tale reeks with vulgar portrayals of it. In the meantime, the reign of vice is thought daily to grow more common and moreshameless; the demoralization of our great cities, in the flauntingopenness of their profligacy, seems to be annually bringing themnearer to an equality with the debauched cities of pagan antiquity. The depravity of an abandoned life is supposed to gather constantlyan enlarging class of victims, and to diffuse its undermining evilsmore widely around us. Shall the pulpit, the academic chair, the highcourt of the finer literature, alone be dumb? It is the duty of thoseclothed with the authority of wisdom and purity to speak in plainaccents of warning and guidance. They are guilty of a wrong, if theylet a mock modesty keep them silent on a matter so deeply imperillingthe most sacred interests of the community. 

Yet a word of protest is called for against those exaggeratedsensational statements on this subject, so persistently forced onpublic attention by well-meaning but mistaken persons. A tendency hasshown itself of late, in many quarters, to attribute that increase ofsensual vices imagined to mark the age, not to temporary outwardcauses, provisional phases of our civilization, but to a growth ofdepravity in character, an intrinsic lowering of moral sanctions andheightening of foul passions in the people. Such a belief I hold tobe both false in its basis and pernicious in its influence. To everycompetent student of human nature, history demonstrates a progressivediminution in the intensity of the physical passions, and acorresponding increase of moral sensibility and the power ofconscience. The extension of sensual vice at the present time, if itbe a fact, is owing to accidental conditions which will not bepermanent, and is itself very far from being so common or so fearfulas some alarmists think. Those alarmists are doing more hurt thangood by their overdrawn descriptions and excited declamation. Theyare fastening a morbid attention on a morbid subject. There is aninnocent ignorance, which, if dangerous in some cases, is, in manycases, the highest safety. There is a wholesome unconsciousness, anoble preoccupation with good and pure things, which is a far morepromising protective from evil and its temptations than a keen scentand an eager notice of every tainted thing in the wind. If you choosethe crow for your guide, you must expect your goal to be carrion. Thetravellers, who, after making the tour of the United States, writebooks taken up with the frequency of divorce among us, or devoted tosuch limited and exceptional aspects as that presented by the Mormonsettlement at Utah, are not to be accepted as sound expositors of oursocial and moral condition. A De Tocqueville is a truer and moreadequate teacher. Many recent writers on the relation of the sexes inthe present age, writers belonging to the medical, priestly, andliterary professions, appear to be infested with the suspicion thatcertain wicked and disgusting customs are almost universal. They seemoccupied in looking everywhere to trace the signs of those customs. Their writings are less adapted to prevent or cure the deprecatedevil than they are to fix a diseased gaze on it, and thus toaggravate its mischief. Their readers must get more harm than benefitfrom them. The belief in the exceptionality and the loneliness ofvice is a restraint from it; the belief in its commonness is ademoralizing provocative to it. There are well-meant books now havinga wide circulation in consequence of the efforts made to push them, which I cannot help believing do more injury than many books whichare universally condemned. They give their readers the suspicion thatthe vilest forms of sensuality are universally prevalent, and inducein them the habit of looking for their signals in every direction. Toevery pure and lofty soul, such a suspicion and habit are enough toturn the sunshine into a stench and make the very landscapeloathsome. The crowding of population in manufacturing and commercialcentres, our thronged and exposed hotel-life, the expensive habits offashion, the excessive luxury of wealth and vanity, are, undoubtedly, causes of much personal vice. But, notwithstanding all this, the vileand degraded men and women are the marked exception in everycommunity among us. The vile and degraded are more segregated into aclass by themselves, and are therefore more conspicuous and obtrusivethan ever before. Licentiousness may have been more prevalentformerly than now, as I believe it was; but less prominent and lessnoticed, because of its greater diffusion. It was not so concentratedinto relief. The unstainedly honorable and virtuous are the vastmajority, and will, when a few evil conditions of society areoutgrown, rapidly become an ever larger majority. Especially do Ibelieve it to be a truth, which none but the ignorant or the viciouscan question, that every city and village in America, outside ofMormondom, abounds with matrons and maidens, the face of any one ofwhom Purity herself might take for her escutcheon. 

But, after we allow every just abatement from the overchargedrepresentations of the extent of sensual vice in our time, thereremains cause enough to make every lover of virtue anxious to employall available means to lessen the force of social temptation and toincrease the firmness Of individual resistance. And there cannot be areasonable doubt that high-toned friendships of earnest men and womenwould be a holy and powerful restraint from illicit habits. Torepresent such attachments and intercourse as dangerous lures toevil, or, as a popular novelist of the day has called them, "delusions and snares, " is an inversion of their true influence. Consider the following picture drawn by a young Frenchman from hisown experience amid the exposures of Paris:

"The house of Julius Fontaine is another home for me; he and his wifeare a family for me. When I am gay, I go to them to pour out mygayety; if I am sad, I go to them to have my grief consoled; theyreceive kindly both my joy and my sorrow. No fixed day nor hour ofadmission, no ceremony and grand toilet; they receive me when Iarrive; they welcome rue in whatever costume I present myself. Ienjoy to the utmost, with these good friends, the pleasure of beingspoiled; I give myself up to it with delight. As soon as I enter, they install me in a comfortable arm-chair, in a choice situation inthe corner of the fireplace. They speak to me of every thing that isinteresting to Ime; they listen to all my nonsense; they give meadvice, if I ask for it; they consult me about all they intend doing. I am initiated, by a lively conversation, into the most minutedetails of the household; they relate to me the little triumphs andmisdeeds of the children, whom they caress or scold before me. If thehour arrives for the meal, my place is set; and, invited or not, there are sure to be on the table some dishes for which they know mypreference. In playing with the children, in dreaming aloud, intalking seriously, sometimes in a little discussion or backbiting, inlaughing, and exchanging those nothings which charm, we know not why, the hours glide away. I leave as late as possible; we give cordialgrasps of the hand, which express our regret at parting. The nextday, or a few days after, I find myself there with renewed pleasure. It seems as if each evening we become more necessary to one another. They almost make me forget that they are two, and that I am one. "

Such a friendship must be a guardian guidance of virtue andhappiness. The cultivation of such relations cannot be too stronglyrecommended. The odious vices of sensuality would die out beforethem. Profligacy either rots or petrifies the heart; but a purefriendship inspires, cleanses, expands, and strengthens the soul. Itis the nutriment of genius and of every form of philanthropic virtue. "How can one who hates men love a woman without blushing?" is one ofRichter's incisive questions. 

In now taking up the subject before us, the meaning of the thing indebate should first be perceived; for, while the ignorant are alwaysthe least competent, they are often the most forward, to givedecisions. Truly understood, the Platonic sentiment does not denotelove, in the distinctive significance of that word, but a pure andfervent friendship. Ideal love is ordinary love taken up, out ofmaterial organs and relations, into pure mentality, with thepreserved correspondence of all it had on that lower plane where itnaturally lives. Platonic love is a high personal passion, like theformer, with the exception that no physical influence of sex entersinto it; imagination exalting the soul, instead of inflaming thesenses. Actual love is the marriage of total persons for mutualhappiness, and for the transmission of themselves in new beings. Ideal love is either the memory of actual love, or the notion of itprevented from becoming actual by some impediment. Platonic love isthe marriage of souls for the production of spiritual offspring, ideas, feelings, and volitions. The first looks ultimately to theperpetuation of life by providing new receptacles for it; the lastlooks ultimately to the enhancement of life by a sympatheticreflection of it. The children of actual love are organicreproductions of the being of the parents; the children of Platoniclove are spiritual reflections of the being of the parents. Theperfected offspring of love are boys and girls; the perfectedoffspring of friendship are states of consciousness. 

Love, in its high and pure forms, is confined to one object. Friendship has this advantage, that it may be given to all, howevernumerous, whose conduct and qualities of character are fitted tocommand it. It is, therefore, less perilous, less exposed to fatalwreck, more capable of consolations and replacements. Love andfriendship are properly not antagonists, but coadjutors. Theynaturally go together where there is adaptedness for them, mutuallyquickening and increasing each other. The former should never existwithout the ennobling companionship and clarifying mixture of thelatter. But there are numberless instances in which, while the formeris impossible, or would be wrong, the latter is abundantly capable ofnurture, and would prove a boon of unspeakable solace. 

Six immortal names will serve to set in relief the distinctionbetween that impassioned friendship of man and woman whichconstitutes Platonic love, and those forms of ideal love which areoften erroneously confounded with it. 

The affection of Petrarch for Laura, after her death, was ideal love. The love which, in her life, had pervaded his system, then rose, strained of its carnal elements, and re-appeared in his mind alone, with the ideal equivalents of all it had before. She became aheavenly idea exciting emotions in him, instead of an earthly objectproductive of sensations; yet a correspondence of all that had beenin the sensations was still seen, purged and eternized, in theemotions. 

The affection for Beatrice which consecrated the soul of Dante wasPlatonic love, or a divine friendship. It was free from sensualingredients from the first. It was his spirit, ruled by an intensesympathy, mentally confronting hers, as a live mirror before a livemirror; creating in his own, in correspondent states ofconsciousness, all the entrancing shapes of truth, beauty, andgoodness he saw passing in hers, revealed from God, revealing God, and clothed with power to redeem the gazer from every thing corrupt. Dante promised to immortalize Beatrice by dedicating to her such astrain of love as had never before celebrated a woman. He kept hispromise wonderfully. But the essence of his love was not a newcreation; it was simply an ardent, sexless, worshipping friendship, that Platonic passion which, wholly cleansed from sense, adored abeautiful soul as a type of the Divine Beauty, a medium of celestialrealities, which shone through it in half-veiled reminiscences. Theoriginality of the Dantean love consists, first, in the uniquepersonality of the poet, and the equally peerless personality whichhis genius has given to his lady; secondly, in associating andblending with the Platonic substance of that love the constituentsand scenery of the Christian doctrines of God and the future life. 

Abelard and Heloise began with ordinary friendship, in the relationof teacher and pupil. The extreme beauty, genius, and graces of theparties soon poured into their intercourse an intoxicating potion, which swept the senses into the mental whirl; and friendshipfermented into love. After their misfortunes and separation, thelove, refined from passion to memory, rose out of the senses into thethoughts, and circulated in idea, instead of detaching itself in act. We imagine Petrarch offering enamored tribute to Laura, who warmlypersuades his homage, but coldly repels his ardor. We think ofAbelard and Heloise in pensive converse, hand in hand, eye to eye, living over the past with tender regrets. But we see Dante kneelingbefore Beatrice, in profound humility and intellectual entrancement, touching the hem of her robe, while she points upward to the supernalGlory, whose light is falling on her face. 

What distinguishes this Platonic affection from ordinary friendshipis, that the magic of imagination, with a religious emphasis, is init. What distinguishes it from love is, that the consciousness of sexhas nothing to do with it, while that element is essential in thelatter. If woman is generally the object to whom this affectionattaches, it is not because she is woman, but because she is purer, lovelier, more self-abnegating, a clearer mirror of divinity. Precisely the same affection exists, when favorable conditions meet, between man and man; as is abundantly shown in the sonnets ofShakespeare, in the writings of Plato himself, and in many otherplaces. 

The type of affection now defined, many people consider a meretheory, spun by a finical fancy, incapable of reduction to practicein the substantial relations of life. But such critics criticisethemselves. They identify their own limitations with the diagram ofhuman nature. This is the procedure ever characteristic of arrogantfolly, to make its actual experience the measure of possibleexperience. All beauty that is sufficiently marked, does, in its verynature, awaken a blessed ravishment in every soul that issufficiently harmonious and sensitive. The charm operates to thisresult through the imagination. Now, if the imagination distributethe spell through the body, as well as through the soul, ordinarylove is the consequence; but, if imagination be confined within theintellect, Platonic love is the consequence. Some persons, no doubt, are incapable of the latter; the instant any form of beauty strikestheir perceptions, it is deflected downward, and dips into thesenses. Every esthetic impression, even the loveliness of painting, music, or a soft landscape, affects them voluptuously. But it is anoutrage for them to attribute this peculiarity of constitutionalstructure, or temperamental key, to everybody else. There are personsbuilt after a nobler pattern, keyed to a loftier music, susceptibleof a more undefiled and eternal stir of the atoms of consciousness. They look on a beautiful woman, with a delight circling purely in themind, with a serene melodious joy, like that given them by anexquisite picture, statue, or landscape. Dante tells us, in his VitaNuova, that he carried about with him a list of the loveliest ladiesin Florence. To attach any prurient association to the act, would beblasphemy; it can only be understood by reference to that sweet, poetic, religious worship of lovely forms, which seems to risethrough contemplation of beauty to adoration of God. One man, broughtinto intimate relation with an attractive and gifted woman, feels asif he were a vase of fiery quicksilver; another feels as if he were amirror of divine ideas. The latter is capable of a friendship withher as fervent as love, but without its alloy; the former is not. St. Beuve says of Maurice de Guérin, "The sympathetic friendship of abeautiful woman appeased instead of inflaming him. "

The exalted friendship of man and woman, known as Platonic love, isnot, then, an empty mirage of sentimentality. But is it not toodangerous to be cultivated? Is it not liable to go too far, and towork fatal mischiefs? Many, judging from unworthy instances, With aninadequate knowledge of the data, answer these questions with asweeping affirmative. But justice requires a careful discrimination. Unquestionably there are some who are unfit for this relation, indanger of perversion and betrayal at every step of its progress. Suchshould either shun the connection, or keep themselves with doubleguards of discreet reserve and watchfullness. Love and friendship, with them, are two electrical regions, insulated by a thin line ofnon-conduction. The more highly charged region tends, at the touch ofany stimulative sign, to break through the barrier, and to flood thewhole being with its own kind. For those of inflammable temperamentand weak conscience, it is obvious enough what jeopardy must attendtheir playing about the conscious edges of relations on which suchthunders of soul and fate hang, ready to be unleashed at a look. Butthere is another class of persons, with whom the fire of affection isharmless. Like those weird heat-lightnings that play in the firmamenton summer evenings, it retains the lambent warmth and luminousloveliness, without the blasting violence. Of the intellectual andsensual regions, only the former is surcharged; the latter is eitherexhausted, or separated by an insulation so sure that it cannotpossibly flash into the other. The unclean electricity of lust cannotfind its way through the non-conductors of esteem, reverence, duty, and honor. Those are safe, who, shielded by such holy barriers, paytheir worship, in the mental holy of holies, to the supernal charmsof truth and virtue, to the dazzling sanctity of the principle ofgood. It is only the gross and weak who are discharged to their ruinby the lures of vice and pleasure. A profound reverence for a personat the same time inflames the soul and refrigerates the senses. 

The common apprehension of danger from friendship between men andwomen is exaggerated. Those who fear such a danger should study themoral exaltation and the unspeakable usefullness and comfort of thefriendship between Gunther, the court physician, and Matilda, thequeen, depicted by Auerbach, with such careful truth, in his greatnovel, "On the Height. " Friendship is more likely to spring from lovethan love from friendship, in all but degraded characters. Desire isunprincipled. Love rests on a basis of desire, and naturally fightsagainst the obstacles that oppose its gratification. It is, therefore, taken by itself, essentially dangerous. But friendshiprests on a basis of esteem. Esteem is the very voice and face ofmoral and religious principle, the essential enemy of lowtemptations. It is the clear cold signet with which the soul stamps acommanding veto against every vicious act. Whenever there is dangerthat friendship will become another passion, where there are legal ormoral duties forbidding it, the true course is not to dismiss anddenounce the friendship, but to preserve it in its undegenerateintegrity, by strengthening the sanctions, restraints, andobligations that should properly guide and guard it. The element ofsense and sex sometimes breaks out with horrible fury in the closestrelations. The cruel crime of Hebrew Amnon, the dark tale of ItalianCenci, numerous Greek tragedies, many of the terrible Englishtragedies of Massinger, Ford, Beaumont and Fletcher, and Beddoes, furnish harrowing examples. The amours of the unworthy yield nobetter argument against profound and earnest friendships between menand women than the morbid cases referred to yield against the properaffection of parent and child, brother and sister. One does notrefuse to exercise his mind for fear it will lead to insanity; but hetakes care to exercise it healthily. So he should not repudiate thefriendship of a woman, because it may lead to harm; he should cherishthe friendship, and beware of the harm. It is a profanation to judgeof the natural effect of intimacy with the innocent or the wise andvirtuous from the effects of intimacy with the depraved and guileful. Poor, sinful Tannhauser, long enslaved in the Venusberg, yearned tobe free from the degrading bonds of sensuality. Utterly vain were hisagonizing prayers to Venus to release him. But when, with a suddenardor of faith and resolve, he cried to the Virgin Mary, the grottoin which he was confined instantly faded away, with all itsunhallowed seductions. 

The degree of danger in these connections will always depend on thecharacters of the parties. We cannot lay down, as tests, generalrules which have much value irrespective of particular persons. JeanPaul, at twenty-six, wrote a prize-essay on "How far Friendship mayproceed with the other sex without Love, and the Difference betweenit and Love. " The essay won the prize; but, if ever published, it isnot contained in his collected writings. Probably the author'smaturer judgment pronounced it of but little value. In one of thevolumes of the "Southern Literary Messenger" there is a very pleasingtale, entitled "How far Friendship may go with a Woman;" arguing thatit is sure to end in love. The same conclusion is also advocated withmuch spirit in "A Debate on Friendship, " in the thirty-fourth volumeof "Knickerbocker. " The opposite and better view is gracefully andeffectively maintained in an article entitled "De l'Amitie, " in thefifteenth volume of "Harper's Magazine. " Such special pleadings, however, will have slight weight with a sincere inquirer after thetruth. 

The most important principle for the guidance of such an inquirer isthis: Friendship can be carried, without adulteration or peril, to adegree proportioned to the nobleness and consecration of the parties. It is shocking for those drawn together by a common pursuit ofpleasures, to judge, by the standard applicable to themselves, thoseattracted towards each other by a common service of authorities. As ageneral rule, sensuality is in inverse ratio to intellectuality, butsensibility in direct ratio. 

Accordingly, there is a select class of men and women, of theloftiest genius and character, the native haunt of whose souls is inthe purest regions of nature and experience, who are made forfriendship; and who, destitute of this, are deprived of their truestand fullest happiness. The movement of imagination which beautystarts in them keeps to the chariot-paths of celestial ideas, and isnever switched into the burning tracks of sense. Friendship thenreigns in sovereign distinction from love, sometimes by anunfittedness for the latter, sometimes by the interposition of moralprinciples and sentiments which lift their insulating behests as animpenetrable wall between the different regions. 

One of the most striking of the testimonies borne to the value of thefriendship of a woman is that of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton:

"It is a wonderful advantage to a man, in every pursuit or avocation, to secure an adviser in a sensible woman. In woman there is at once asubtile delicacy of tact, and a plain soundness of judgment, whichire rarely combined to an equal degree in man. A woman, if she bereally your friend, will have a sensitive regard for your character, honor, repute. She will seldom counsel you to do a shabby thing; fora woman Triend always desires to be proud of you. At the same time, her constitutional timidity makes her more cautious than your malefriend. She, therefore, seldom counsels you to do an imprudent thing. By friendships I mean pure friendships, those in which there s noadmixture of the passion of love, except in the married state. Aman's best female friend is a wife of good sense and good heart, whomhe loves, and who loves him. If he have that, he need not seekelsewhere. But supposing the man to be without such a helpmate, female friendship he must have, or his intellect will be without agarden, and there will be many an unheeded gap even in its strongestfence. 

"Better and safer, of course, are such friendships, where disparitiesof years or circumstances put the idea of love out of the question. Middle life has rarely the advantage youth and age have. Moliere'sold housekeeper was a great help to his genius; and Monaigne'sphilosophy takes both a gentler and loftier character of wisdom fromthe date in which he finds, in Marie de Gournay, an adopted daughter, 'certainly beloved by me, ' says the Horace of essayists, with morethan paternal love, and involved in my solitude of retirement, as oneof the best parts of my being. Female friendship, indeed, is to a manthe bulwark, sweetener, ornament, of his existence. To his mentalculture it is invaluable; without it, all his knowledge of books willnever give him knowledge of the world. "

Mrs. Jameson quotes the opinion of Auguste Comte, that "the only trueand firm friendship is that between man and woman, because it is theonly one free from all possible competition. " And she adds, "In thisI am inclined to agree with him, and to regret that our conventionalmorality, or immorality, places men and women in such a relationsocially as to render such friendships difficult and rare. " SydneySmith said, and the remark applies as forcibly to America as toEngland, "It is a great happiness to form a sincere friendship with awoman; but a friendship among persons of different sexes rarely ornever takes place in this country. " The strong jealousy felt in thesecountries for any intimate relations of affection between men andwomen other than fathers and daughters, mothers and sons, brothersand sisters, husbands and wives; the readiness to cast coarseinsinuations on them, is more discreditable to our hearts than it iscreditable to our morals. It implies the belief that they cannot beattached as spirits without becoming entangled as animals. It isabsurd to pretend that the multiplication of virtuous friendshipsbetween the sexes would foster licentiousness. Their flourishes bestin their absence. Their lifeelement, esteem, is death tolicentiousness. A holy thought, with its train of vestal emotions, like Diana and her nymphs, hunts impure desire out of the blood. Oneof the most known and remarkable friendships of woman and man wasthat of the Pope Hildebrand and the Countess Matilda of Tuscany. Their relation was based on veneration for each other's commandingand austerely virtuous characters, ardent sympathy in convictions, plans, dangers, labors, and sufferings. They were both supremelydevoted to the Church, to the support of its creed, and to theextension of its power. An enthusiastic community in so muchexperience made them enthusiastic friends. The vile charges ofimpurity brought against them by their vulgar foes then, and repeatedsince by prejudiced historians, are a matter of indignation anddisgust to every impartial judge. 

The most persuasive recommendation of these friendships is seen inthe class of persons who are their most distinguished cultivators andexemplars. Men overflowing with the tenderest sensibility, devoted tothe loftiest ends, bravest to dare, firmest to suffer, quickest torenounce, studious, afflicted, holy, unconquerable souls, are theones who put the highest estimate on the friendships of women; whoinstinctively seek to win the confidence and interest of the bestwomen they meet; who are surest to surround themselves with a groupof pure and noble women, from whose sympathy, through conversationand correspondence, they draw unfailing supplies of comfort, strengthand hope. Find a person to whom a tender friendship is an absolutenecessity, as it was to the classic De Tocqueville, who said, "Icannot be happy, or even calm, unless I meet with the encouragementand sympathy of some of my fellow-creatures, " and you will never findhim sneering at Platonic love. Klopstock, soul of ethereal softnessand sanctity; Jean Paul, who added the finest heart of womanhood tothe athletic soul of manhood; Richardson, so blameless in his life, so pathetic in his writings, so pleasing in his half naïve, halfgrandiose, personality; William Humboldt, the loving son and brother, the irreproachable statesman, the majestic scholar, the model of aChristian gentleman; Matthieu de Montmorency, hero and saint;Schleiermacher, the unflinching thinker and prophet, devout rouser, yearning comrade, encircled by Rahel Levin, Charlotte Von Kathen, Dorothea Veit, Henrietta Herz, and the rest; Charming, brave seekerand servant of truth, spotless patriot, lofty friend of humanity, burning aspirant to God, finest and grandest American character, these, and such as these, are the men who have most valuedfriendships with choice and unspotted women. On the other hand, thecontemners of such a sentiment will be found most fitly representedby Thersites, who continued to ridicule Achilles for the tender-heartedness he showed towards the dead queen of the Amazons, untilthe hero killed the rancorous scoffer with one blow of his fist. 

But, of all the class of men we have been speaking of, no one hasmore thoroughly tasted the contents of this relation in personalexperience, or more completely mastered and displayed its secrets bypsychological criticism, than Jacobi. Jacobi sat, for half his life, in the centre of a sort of Platonic academy of noble women, such ashis own sisters, and the Princess Galitzin, Sophia Delaroche, andCornelia Goethe, revolving, both in native feeling and criticalthought, all the treasures of pure affection. Bettine, after a visitto him, said, "Jacobi is tender as a Psyche awakened too early. " Inhis two works, "Allwill's Correspondence" and "Woldemar, " he unfoldsthe true philosophy of Platonic love, in its psychologicalfoundations and workings, and in all its subtilest ramifications, more fully than anybody else has ever done it. Jacobi held the glassbefore his own bosom, dipped the pen in his own heart, and drew thenoble though fevered Woldemar after the life. The chief characters inthis romance of philosophy and sentiment are Woldemar; his brotherBiderthal, to whom he is passionately attached; Dorenburg; the threesisters, Caroline, Luise, and Henriette Hornich; and their dearneighbor and associate, Allwina Clarenau. Caroline and Luise marryBiderthal and Dorenburg; Allwina becomes Woldemar's wife; butHenriette becomes his friend. This friendship becomes socomprehensive and intense in its vitality, that life would be nothingto them without it. After a while, an element of strange perturbationand suspicion enters into it; they fear it is becoming love, and aremost wretched. But at length, after much perplexity and distress, allcomes clear; and they are again blessed with a perfect spiritualsympathy, as serene and pure as that between two seraphs. 

The story and many of its separate incidents have been greatlycensured and ridiculed; but Jacobi had an insight, a knowledge, amastery, in these delicate matters, far superior to that of hiscritics. Whoso really fathoms his exposition must justify and admireit. The characters of Woldemar and Henriette are extraordinary andexceptional; they are nevertheless true; and their experience isaccurately depicted, and offers an invaluable lesson for those whocan read it. "I had, from a child, " Woldemar writes, "a sweetlovingness for every thing which came in beauty towards my senses ormy soul. I was full of pleasure, courage, and sadness. I boresomething in my heart which divided me from all things; yea, frommyself, I strove so earnestly to embrace and unite myself with all. But what made my heart so loving, so foolish, so warm and good, thatI never found in any one. Before the rising and before the settingsun, under the moon and the stars, full of love and full of despair, I have wept as Pygmalion before the image of his goddess. " Aftermany vain trials to win a sufficing friendship, after longobservation of others and study of himself, Woldemar concluded itunattainable, and laid the hope aside. "I found, " he says, "that, collectively and singly, we nourish too many and too eager desires, are too deeply harassed by the pursuits, cares, joys, and pains oflife, are too much tortured, excited, distracted, for two menanywhere, in these times, to become and remain so completely one asmy loving enthusiasm had made me dream. " But Henriette revived thislong-forgotten dream in Woldemar, and made it real; and in hisfriendship we see carried out the idea of a man in whom a foreignpersonality has so overlaid and taken up his own, absorbing his willand determining his re-actions, that, in his relation to her, theelement of sex is excluded, as it is in his relation to himself; andmarriage with her would seem to him worse than incest. 

The Duchess de Duras, in a letter to Madame Swetchine, expressesherself as being "indignant with the refinements of Woldemar, "

"The mixture of true and false, the combination of just reasoningwith perverted sentiment. This love which is not friendship! and thisfriendship which is not love! Well, in the name of God, to love, isit not to love? Ah, Madame la Duchesse! do you think, then, that allthe infinitely complicated minglings and windings of human feelingare so lucid and simple? Is Jacobi, the German Plato, so stupid ametaphysician and so low a moralist that you can so easily teach himacumen and ethics? Scorn or mirth is misdirected against him. " HadMadame Swetchine read "Woldemar, " we may be sure her verdict wouldhave been different. 

France has stood for a long time in advance of every other nation, inregard to the friendships of its men and women, pure as well asimpure; it is a slander to limit them to the latter class. The reasonof this is to be traced in historic causes, going back to the birthand dispersed influence of chivalry. Chivalry burst into its mostgorgeous flower in Provence; Toulouse was the capital whence itslight and perfume radiated through France. It spread thence intoSpain, Italy, Germany, England, and other places; but nowhere reachedthe height and copiousness of power it had in the land of its origin. Its most fervent manifestation, at the summit of its state, was seenin the worship of woman, the chaste and enthusiastic homage paid bythe knight to the lady of his choice. This ideal idolatry of woman, which played so dazzling a part in the poems of the minstrels and inthe inner life and historic feats of the knights, subsided, in thegradual change of times, into delight in the society and conversationof woman. The peculiar combination of influences that presided overthis process may be briefly indicated. 

Few women at the present time appreciate the debt of honor andgratitude they owe to the troubadour or wandering minstrel of theearly Middle Age. Moncaut has well revealed it in his "History ofModern Love. " Feudal tyranny then held the whole sex in the sternestslavery. One day, the wife, or the young daughter, confined in theupper story of the walled fortress, sees, passing by the castle, apoor youth with a guitar suspended from his neck, humming alanguishing air. She gazes on him; she hearkens to his song; shethanks him with a gesture and a smile. He has brought a momentaryrelief to the weariness of her sad captivity. Cast a glance on thisroaming singer, this houseless rhymer; the last representative ofthat noble poesy born before Homer. This gentle son of poverty, seeking his bread with the strings of his viol, this Bohemian of theeleventh century, goes to regenerate barbarian society. The influenceof music and poesy, which nothing mortal can resist, will win himpermission in all places to sing what no one would dare to say. Hewill publish the sighs of woman for liberty, at a time when her lifeis an imprisonment; the prerogatives of love, its independence, whenthe father disposes of his daughter without deigning to consult herwishes or her vows. Before the ladies of the castles, he willcelebrate the splendid deeds of the knights; before the knights, hewill compassionate the tears and hardships of the ladies shut up inthe castles; and thence will arise a double current of attraction andof sympathy between the oppressed women who suffer, and the generousmen who long to deliver them. 

But causes far deeper and wider than that of minstrelsy wrought inthe favorable influence of chivalry on the condition of women, causespsychological, physiological, and social. The exalting effect of loveis well known; its inciting and glorifying power is seen even inbirds and beasts at the pairing-time, in a new brilliancy of plumage, and a wonderful increase of courage. Love produces a greatersecretion of force in the brain and other nervous centres. Thisexuberance of spirit, or exaltation of function, is usually atransient phenomenon, the gratification of its impulses bringing itscause to a termination. It may, however, be made permanent by such anappropriation of the product as will re-act to keep the cause alive. That is to say, materialize a passion, and you destroy its power, itsflame dies in the damps of indulgence; but spiritualize a passion, and you perpetuate its power, its flame becomes a spur, pricking thesides of intent. 

The love of woman has in all ages given birth in man to passionatedesires, poetic dreams, deferential attentions, persuasive forms ofpoliteness; but only once in the whole of history has this softening, quickening, exalting power restrained from a destructive outlet, andstimulated to an unparalleled richness of manifestation, stamped withchastity by the dominant conscience and imagination of the timebroken out in one great swell as an inspiration to glorious deeds, illuminating the world, and making an immortal epoch. Such, in one ofits aspects, is the significance of chivalry, whose crest-wave brokeinto bloom in the Provencal literature; whose consummate flower, lifted far aloft, was Dante's homage to Beatrice. The inspiration ofchivalry was the love of woman; but that love was spiritual. It aimednot at a personal union, to die away in marriage, but at a deathlessfruition in heroic achievements. This ideal appropriation of love, toengender self-abnegating valor and beneficent deeds, originated fromthe meeting of the two currents of martial history and the Christianreligion in a prepared people and period. 

War was the chief institution and experience of man down to theMiddle Age; Christianity had then become sovereign of the commonbeliefs and fears. The priests, who governed thought and consciencealmost without check, were vowed to perpetual chastity; that was heldup as the highest virtue. But gallantry has always marked thesoldier. This element of military life, inoculated with the fire ofimagination and the sanctity of the gospel, as happened in the poeticatmosphere of priestly and feudal Provence, was transformed into thatpure, intense worship of woman which was sung by the Christiantroubadours, and admired and emulated alike by lords, minstrels, andsquires. For when the priesthood adopted the sons of war, and sentthem forth under Christian sanctions, they naturally imparted tothem, as far as possible, their own duties and sentiments. The resultwas the knight, with his lyre, cross, and sword, mixture of poet, warrior and saint; impersonating, in strange but beautiful union, themilitary, the literary, and the ecclesiastic ideal, in which thesensual flame fostered in the atmosphere of battle was blended withthe mental purity nourished by the exercises of the cloister, andtempered with the rich fancy evoked under the stimulus of theacademy. Chivalry was the child of martial adventure and religiousfaith, married by the culture of the Church. The gallant worship ofwoman native to the camp, the poetic worship of woman created in thecourt of minstrelsy, and the religious worship of woman set forth bythe Church in the apotheosis of the Virgin Mary, blent in chivalry, produced that stainless and ardent devotion of the knight to hislady, which was appropriated as at once the incitement and the rewardof brave and disinterested actions. Dipped in that pure pool ofsentiment which the Angel of Christianity stirred, the darts of Cupidwere cleansed from aphrodisiacs. The thought of a pure and lovelywoman was then naturally allied with the thought of Divinity; theassociation of garter and star was not difficult. 

The enthusiasm thus copiously generated, forbidden by the reigningspirit and circumstances of the age to escape, either through thevent of sensual indulgence, or through that of mere dreamingsentimentalism, was forced to flow forth in the only remainingchannel, that of self-consecration to perilous adventures, gloriousservices, feats of toil and penance. When arms and knight-errantryfell out of fashion, in a more settled age, this force of enthusiasm, no longer flashing forth in warlike emprise, illumined the saloon;the current of feeling, instead of being directed upon the field, circled in the breast, and sparkled out in genial talk and gracefulforms. The idolatrous devotion to woman, which had nerved the arm ofthe knight, and upheld chivalry, now subsided into a respectfulsympathy with woman, and, animating the heart of the gentleman, became the ornament and sweetener of society, the inspiring basis ofintercourse. In consequence of the stimulus and position resultingfrom the extreme honor paid to the great feudal dames and theirbeautiful sisters, in that palmy era, the higher class of women inFrance obtained a social development whose advantages they have neversince lost. 

France also had another period quite unique for the varied andwonderful development it gave to the genius and character of woman. An anonymous writer, in the English "National Review, " has describedthis epoch in a passage of marked wisdom and brilliancy. "The courtof France, " he says, "in the reign of Louis XIII, the regency of Anneof Austria, and the early part of the reign of Louis XIV, produced acompany of ladies, in whose presence all the remaining tract ofhistory looks dim. Cousin has nobly drawn the portraits of theirleaders. The wars of the League had left the great nobles of Francein the enjoyment of an amount of personal freedom, importance, anddignity, greater than was ever before or since the lot of anyaristocracy. Chivalrous traditions; the custom of appeal to arms forthe settlement of personal quarrels, a custom which is said to havecost the country some nine hundred of its best gentlemen in about asmany years; the worship of womanhood, carried to a pharisaicalstrictness of observance, were conditions, which, though sociallydisastrous in various ways, exalted the individual worth, power, andmajesty of men to the most imposing height, and rendered acorresponding exaltation imperative upon the women, in order tosecure that personal predominance which it is their instinct to seek. The political state of France was one which afforded the members ofits court extraordinary occasions for the display of character. Thatstate was one of a vast transition. Feudal privileges had to beeither moderated, defined, and constitutionalized, or else destroyed. The revolution which was about to operate in England, and to end inliberty, was already working in France with a manifestly oppositedestiny. Richelieu and Mazarin were slowly and surely bringing aboutan absolute despotism, as the only solution of the politicaldifficulties of the State consistent with its greatness, and, probably, even with its unity. The opposition of the nobles to thediminution of their power was carried on with far greater boldnessand grandeur of personal effect, inasmuch as it was done withoutdirectly affronting the monarchical authority in the persons of itsweak representatives, Louis XIII. And Anne of Austria. The two greatministers were the objects against which the whole wrath of thenobility was directed. Hence the war against encroaching monarchy wasin great part waged in the court itself; and the king and the queen-regent were themselves found from time to time in the ranks of theindignant aristocracy. Here, then, was a wonderful field forindividual effect; and that field was open to women no less, or evenmore, than to men; for the struggle on the part of the latter was, upon the whole, a selfish and ignoble one. No national idea inspiredit; every one was for himself and his house; and the women wereperfectly able to sympathize and assist in quarrels of this personaland intelligible interest. In these days, too, rose Port-Royal, withits female reformers, saints, and theologians, offering an asylum toweary and repentant worldliness and passion, or a fresh field forvanity which had exhausted its ordinary irritants. On every side laygreat temptations and great opportunities; and the women of theperiod seem to have been endowed with singular qualifications for theillustration of both. "

The historic tradition of her great, lovely, brilliant, accomplishedwomen is one chief reason why friendships of women with men are morecommon and important in France than in most other countries. Besides, the French are a more ideal people than others; live more from thebrain, less from the spinal axis; take a deeper delight in the meresocial reflection and echoing of life. And in this, on account oftheir instinctive swiftness of susceptibility, perception, andadroitness, refined women can have no rivals in the other sex. Theluxury of the British is taciturnity; but to this day the favoriteexcitement of the French is conversation; and conversation is thefood of friendship. 

The inner history of the Catholic Church, so wealthy in manydepartments of experience, is especially rich in an original class ofprofound friendships of men and women, friendships between devoutladies and their spiritual directors. Without referring to the abuseswhich would sometimes occur in the instances of weak or sinistercharacters, these religious friendships have often been surprisinglypermeating and transparent. This follows from the nature of the case. For the most ardent healthy devotees of religion are persons of themost exalted ideas and affections, most deeply endowed with thesensibility of genius. Every coarse passion both alien to their soulsand awed away by the infinite realities they adore in common, thehistoric abyss of the Church scintillating around them with thememories and presences of saints, martyrs, angels, it is natural thatall the purer sympathies of their being, enkindled and consecrated, should yearn together. The woman also confides every secret, unveilsthe inmost states of her spirit, to her confessor; takes counsel ofhim; holds with him the most confidential communion known outside ofmarriage. And the priest, in turn, shut out from the chief personalties and vents of family, spontaneously bestows, so far as isblameless, his best human affections, turned back elsewhere, on thesister, daughter, mother, friend, fellow-worshipper, who looks up tohim with such affecting trust, opening her heart to him, telling himher hopes and griefs, her errors, prayers, and fears. Madame deSévigné, speaking of the attachment of women for their confessors, says, "They would rather talk ill of themselves than not talk ofthemselves. " When pure and beautiful women, wonderfully dowered withspiritual charms, and noble priests, eminently possessed of everyvirtue and authority of character, so often meet, amid such inspiringcircumstances, beneath the august sanctions of the church, drawnforward by the sublime mysteries of religion, and blending thepotential perfections of heaven with the actual experiences of earth, it would be no less than a miracle if many friendships of singularsincerity and power did not spring up. They have sprung up in everypart and period of Christendom; more in the Catholic Church thananywhere else, because its ritual and doctrine, its organizedreligious life and its practice of direction, furnish for themunequalled facilities and provocatives. 

The friendship all divine which Jesus showed for many women, of whomMary and Martha, the sisters of his friend Lazarus, are examples--thefriendship which drew such matchless devotion from them, has beenperpetuated in the Church in a relation of peculiar tendernessbetween the priest and the devotee. 

"Many women followed Jesus from Galilee, ministering unto him. " Withwhat godlike benignity he spoke to the Samaritan woman, to theSyrophenician woman, and to the poor adulteress! With whatindescribable compassion he turned to the women who accompanied himtowards Calvary, bewailing and lamenting him, and said, "Daughters ofJerusalem, weep not for me". And what words shall be set beside thosewhich fell from his lips when, as he hung on the cross, he saw hismother, and the disciple standing by whom he loved, and he saith untohis mother, "Woman, behold thy son!" then he saith to the disciple, "Behold thy mother!" Verily, from that hour, the Church has takenwoman to itself, as the recipient of a ministration full of respectand purity. In any enumeration of renowned ecclesiasticalfriendships, Saint Chrysostom and Saint Olympias, the gold-mouthedbishop of Constantinople and the rich and noble widow, deserve tohead the list. Under the guidance of the eloquent preacher, shelabored to perfect herself in the religious life, and gave her timeand wealth to all kinds of charity and good works. From her Christianaffection he drew precious strength and comfort. When he was carriedfrom his church and driven into exile, the weeping Olympias fell athis feet, and clasped them so closely that the officers had to useforce in tearing him from her. Sixteen letters addressed to her byChrysostom during his banishment are still extant, silentlypronouncing her eulogy throughout the Christian world. A friendshiplike the foregoing, only still more complete, was that of SaintJerome and Saint Paula. The talents, scholarship, services, andenthusiasm of Jerome are universally known; and the chief personalattachment of his life is scarcely less familiar to the public. Paula, immortalized not less in literary history as his friend thanin the ecclesiastical calendar for her virtues, was one of the mostdistinguished women of the age. She had great riches and high rank, as well as pronounced talents and worth. The blood of the Scipios, ofthe Gracchi, and of Paulus Emilius, met in her veins. Jerome was herspiritual director at Rome for two years and a half-her other soulwhile life remained. She built and supported at her own expense anextensive monastery for Jerome and his monks at Bethlehem. When shedied, Jerome wrote to her daughter the long and celebrated lettercalled "Epitaph of Paula, " in which he exhausts the hyperboles ofpraise. The features of a rare character and the proofs of anextraordinary affection may be discerned within the extravagances ofthis eloquent panegyric. The tombs of Jerome and Paula are still tobe seen side by side in the monastery at Bethlehem. Saint Clara ofAssisi, on account of her high rank, great wealth, and extremeloveliness, had many offers of marriage, many temptations to enterinto the gayeties and luxuries of the world. But she preferred thethorny path of mortification and the crown of celestial beatitude. The melting pathos of the preaching of Saint Francis, with thepenetrative charm of his spirit, drew her to throw herself at hisfeet and supplicate his guidance. He approved her desire to devoteherself wholly to the religious life in seclusion; and, when she hadmade her escape by night from the proud castle, clad in her festalgarments, and with a palm-branch in her hand, he and his poorbrotherhood met her at the chapel-door, with lighted tapers and hymnsof praise, and led her to the altar. Francis cut off her long goldenhair, and threw his own penitential habit over her. She became hisdisciple, daughter, and friend, never wavering, though exposed todangers and trials of the severest character. Under his direction, she formed the famous order of Franciscan nuns, afterwards named fromher the Poor Clares. 

These nuns, clad in gowns of gray wool, knotted girdles, white coifsand black veils, engaged in touching works of humility and charity, have been seen in many nations now for seven centuries, keeping alivethe example of their foundress. When the body of Saint Francis, onits way to burial, was borne by the church of San Damiano, whereClara and her nuns dwelt, she came forth with them weeping, salutedthe remains of her friend, and kissed his hands and his garments. Thememory of the relation of these sainted friends is perpetuated inmany pictures of the Madonna, wherein Clara is portrayed on one sideof the throne of the Virgin, and Francis on the other, bothbarefooted, and wearing the gray tunic and knotted cord emblematic ofpoverty. Perhaps the most fervent and interesting of all thefriendships between director and devotee, of which the documents havebeen published, is that of Saint Francis of Sales and Madame deChantal. Full materials for studying this relation are furnished inthe letters that passed between the parties, both of whom were of atemperament strung to the most exquisite tones of consciousness, withminds both wise and strong, and with characters under the control ofaustere principles of duty and piety. Michelet, in his work on theConfessional, gives a skilful and forcible picture of this raptfriendship; but his own pervading sensuousness, not to saysensuality, does the sentiment gross injustice by mixing in it somuch of flesh and earth. The union of these two mystics in spirit anddeed was as taintless as that of two angels in heaven. 

If throbs of agonizing passion sometimes mounted up, the invariableheroism with which they were veiled and suppressed simply adds themartyr merit to the saintly one. Saint Francis had an irresistibleattractiveness of figure and face, a temper and bearing of singularsweetness. Childlike, and so fair in appearance that it was difficultto withdraw the eyes from him, he united the greatest social insightand skill with the greatest sincerity and simplicity. Madame deChantal, early left a widow, with several children and an aged andinfirm father, administered the business of her household withsystematic prudence, and filled her leisure hours with ferventreligious exercises. Saint Francis and Madame de Chantal seem to havebeen predestined for friends. Their biographers relate, that, longbefore they had seen each other, they met in mystical visions andecstasies. Archbishop Fremiot, brother of Madame de Chantal, and anintimate acquaintance of Saint Francis, invited him to preach atDijon. During his sermon, the preacher noticed one lady particularlyabove the rest; and, as he came down from the desk, asked, "Who isthat young widow who listened so attentively to the word?" Thearchbishop replied, "That is my sister, the Baroness de Chantal. " Aninspired understanding appears to have at once united their minds. "It is enchantment, " Michelet says, "to read the vivacious anddelightful letters which open the correspondence of Saint Franciswith his dear sister and dear daughter. Nothing can be more pure, nothing can be more ardent. " He says the sentiment she awakenedpowerfully assisted his spiritual progress. He thought of her at themoment of partaking of the sacrament. "I have given you and yourwidowed heart and your children daily to the Lord, in offering up hisSon. " She dispensed with her former confessor, and confided herspirit to Saint Francis. She desired to take the conventual vows; buthe restrained her a long time. In the name of his mother, he gave herhis young sister to educate. 

This occupation tranquillized her mind; but the beloved child soondied at her house, in her arms. She prayed God "to take her own life, or one of her children, in place of her dear pupil. " Saint Francisnow consented that she should withdraw from the world. Her householdpresented a piteous scene-her old father and father-in-law in tears;her son, afterwards the father of Madame de Sévigné, prostratinghimself on the threshold to prevent her departure. But the passionateresponse in her to the supposed call of Heaven broke all lower ties;and she passed over the body of her son, and said farewell for everto her home. Saint Francis intrusted her with the formation of a newreligious order--the celebrated Order of the Visitation. In nurturingthis order, writing, travelling, praying in its interests, withintervals of silent retreat, she spent the rest of her days. Herintense temperament, her absolute faith and submission, hersystematic attention to business, her mystical ecstasies, her heroicsacrifice, form a most original combination. Her life seems analternation of sober processes, stormy raptures, and stifling calms. Her restless sensibility, girdled by fixed principle, gives us thepicture of a sea of fire breaking on a shore of frost. Her essay on"Desire and the Agony of Disappointment" is a gush forced from thebottom of a heart full of baffled feeling, under the pressure of amountain of pain. The constancy and power of her attachment to SaintFrancis, through all, are marvellous. On the day of his mother'sdeath, he writes, "I have given you the place of my mother in mymemorial at the mass: now you hold in my heart both her place andyour own. " She writes to him, "Pray that I may not survive you. "Twenty years did she outlive him; finding, to the last, her greatestpleasure in remembering him, carrying out his wishes, andcorresponding about him with his friends. Ten years after the deathof Saint Francis, Madame de Chantal had his tomb opened in thepresence of her community, and made an address before the embalmedbody. A testimony to the deep impression their friendship had made isfound in the myth, that, when on this occasion she reverently liftedto her head the dead hand of the saint, it acknowledged her devotionby an answering caress. The winning qualities of Madame Guionawakened an enthusiastic interest in many of those whom herremarkable religious experience brought into close relations withher. Especially they produced in her confessor, Father Lacombe, sucha ruling admiration, reverence, and tenderness, that he was subduedinto a caricature of her. He followed her everywhere, could not dinewithout her, made her directions his law. When her peculiar doctrinesof the Quietist life, and her fame, had caused a disturbance in theChurch, her enemies circulated scandals about the friends. Thespotless and heavenly-minded woman smiled, and paid no heed to thewrong. But Father Lacombe, under the combined power of his Quietisticfanaticism, poor health, bitter persecutions, and relentlessimprisonment, lost the balance of his mind altogether, and died. Fenelon also, interested in Madame Guion by her genuine piety, and bysympathy with many of her views, and finding this interest greatlydeepened on personal acquaintance, formed a strong attachment forher. Convinced of her innocence, and knowing her rare worth, themisfortunes and sufferings brought on her by her persecutors servedbut to redouble his kindness. Her enemies then became his; and theymade him pay dearly for his fidelity, by robbing him of waitinghonors, and throwing him into disgrace at court. 

His friendship for Madame Guion was like that of a guardian angel. Itnever failed. One can imagine what her feelings towards him must havebeen. Many noble women had a strong friendship for Fenelon. He couldnot come into the confiding relations of his office with them withoutthat result. His face was all intelligence and all harmony; hisvoice, music; his manner, fascination; his character, heaven. Hisunconscious suavity, his abnegated personality, formed a mightymagnet; and every soul, with any steel of nobleness in it, fondlyswayed to him. Madame Maintenon gave him, for years, all thereverence and affection of which her commonplace nature was capable;and then, at the command of her selfish bigotry, became chilled. Theimpassioned and unhappy La Maisonfort, so talented and so beautiful, whose pathetic story is charged with every element of romance, adoredhim. And the Duchess de Chevreuse and the Duchess de Beauvilliersalways paid him an homage whose grace and sweetness the happiest manthat ever lived might well sigh for. To the latter of these queenlywomen, then a sorrowing widow, he wrote, in the last letter hepenned, "We shall soon find again that which we have not lost: everyday we approach it with swift strides; yet a little while, and therewill be no more cause for tears. " Among the penitents of Bossuet, there was one--a widow, named Cornuau, to whom the great prelate gavemore of his heart than to any of the rest. In submitting herspiritual life to his oversight, they were often brought together, both by letters and by personal interviews. The affectionate docilityand loyalty of the novice won his kind esteem, and the condescendingbenignity and greatness of the noble genius kindled her enthusiasm. And so the opposite ends of the chain of their attachment werefastened. After displaying exemplary zeal, for fifteen years, in allthe works of duty assigned her, she was permitted to become a nun, taking the name of Bossuet in addition to the title of Sister SaintBenigne. Despite her humble origin and the mediocrity of herintellect, Bossuet preferred her above all the high-born andbrilliant ladies who constantly knelt for his benedictions. It wasonly natural, that, notwithstanding the work of grace, she shouldsometimes feel jealous. But once, after she had expressed herself"ready to burst with jealousy" of a certain great lady, whom shefalsely supposed esteemed more than herself by the lofty director, when the object of her jealousy was smitten with a frightful disease, Sister Benigne, with sublime self-sacrifice, went to Paris, andbecame her nurse; "shut herself up with her, watched over and lovedher. " When Bossuet died, La Cornuau, "happily guided by herfriendship, forgetting her own vanity, and mindful only of the fameof her spiritual father, did more for him, perhaps, than anypanegyrist. " She published the two hundred letters he had written toher, "noble letters, written in profound secrecy, never intended tosee the light, but worthy of exposure to the perusal of the wholeworld. "

A friendship, such as we might suppose would be characteristic ofsuch ecstatic natures, was cherished between the two celebratedSpanish mystics, Saint Theresa and Saint John of the Cross. Thefullest expressions of it may be found in their respective writings, now translated into many languages, and easy of access almostanywhere. Unquestionably there have been very numerous Friendships, worthy of notice, between clergymen and devout women, in theProtestant sects. But they are different from those in the Catholiccommunion, which has, in this respect, great advantages. In theProtestant establishment, all are on a free equality; and thereligion is an element fused into the life. With the Catholics, theoverwhelming authority of the Church invests the priests with godlikeattributes; while celibacy detaches their hearts from the home andfamily, leaving them ready for other calls. The laity are placed in apassive attitude, except as to faith and affection, which are moreactive for the restrictions applied elsewhere; and religion ispursued and practised as an art by itself. The church ritual, by itsdramatic contents and movement, peerless in its pathetic, imaginativepower, intensifies and cleanses the passions of those whoappreciatively celebrate or witness it, and who are naturallyattracted together, as, in blended devotional emotions and aims, theycultivate that supernatural art whose infinite interests make allearthly concerns appear dwarfed and pale. 

The instances already cited of the friendships thus originatingsuffice to indicate the wealth in this kind of experience which mustremain for ever unknown to the public. But one example which has justbeen brought to light, and is worthy to rank with the best of earliertimes, should be mentioned here. It is the relation of MadameSwetchine and the most renowned preacher of our century, Lacordaire. This friendship has been beautifully portrayed by Montalembert. Afull account of it will be found farther on in these pages. Thefriendship that joined the souls, and still links the names, ofVittoria Colonna and Michael Angelo, is one of the most celebrated inhistory. Her married life with the chivalrous and magnificent Marquisof Pescara, in his palace on the bewitching isle of Ischia, was oneof the most romantically happy unions ever known; and nothing couldbe more noble than her impassioned fidelity to his memory. It was inthe twelfth year of her widowhood that she first met with MichaelAngelo, then sixty-three years old. Such were their respectiveattributes of personal worth and majesty, rank and fame, exaltationof character and genius, stainless purity, dignity, earnestness, anddevotion, that they could not fail to regard each other with ardentesteem. For ten years, till death separated them, this esteem, with aconsequent sympathy and happiness, steadily grew. To her he dedicatedmany works of his chisel and his pencil, and addressed severalexquisite poems. 

Their example affords a fine illustration of the sentiment ofPlatonic love; and his verses repeatedly give it a rhetoricalexpression equally fine. He says, Better pleaLove cannot have, than that, in loving thee, Glory to that eternal Peace is paid, Who such divinity to thee impartsAs hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts. His hope is treacherous only whose love diesWith beauty, which is varying every hour. But in chaste hearts, uninfluenced by the powerOf outward change, there blooms a deathless flower, That breathes on earth the air of Paradise. 

Vittoria said, "He who admires only the works of Michael Angelovalues the smallest part in him. " One of the only two portraits heever painted was hers. The aged Angelo stood by the couch of Vittoriaat her death. When the last breath had gone, "he raised her hand, andkissed it with a sacred respect. " It is touching to know, that thesublime old man, years afterwards, recalling that scene to a friend, lamented, that, in the awe of the moment, he had refrained frompressing his lips on those of the sainted Colonna. Hermann Grimmsays, "How great the loss was which he sustained can be realized onlyby him who has himself felt the void which the removal of a superiorintellect irretrievably leaves behind it. It must have been to him asif a long-used, magnificent book, in which he found words suitingevery mood, had been suddenly closed, never to be re-opened. Nothingcan compensate for the loss of a friend who has journeyed with us formany years, sharing our experiences. Vittoria was the only one whohad ever fully opened her soul to him. What profit could he draw fromthe reverence of those who would have ceased to understand him, hadhe shown himself as he was in truth? His only consolation was thethought, that his own career was near its close. "

Among the celebrated French women, who have had a genius and apassion for friendships, Mademoiselle de Scudéry deserves prominentmention. Her great talents, virtuous character, and affectionatedisposition, made her a favorite in the distinguished society shefrequented. The great Conde, Madame de Longueville, and the otherfamous visitors of the Hotel Rambouillet, honored her, and tookdelight in her companionship. Her ardent devotion to her friends, herbeautiful and heroic fidelity to them, her chivalrous vein ofsentiment and character, Cousin has illustrated with his minutelearning and generous eloquence. Why Madame de Longueville was indisgrace with the court party, Mademoiselle de Scudéry, with afearless and noble constancy, dedicated a book to her, and, inconsequence, lost her pension, and had to write for her bread. Forthis her aristocratic friends, instead of forsaking her, admired andclung to her the more. Her famous work, the "Grand Cyrus, " in tenthick volumes, to which Cousin has brought to light a complete key, is filled with disguised portraits of her friends and associates, andwith descriptions of the times. 

She draws her own likeness under the name of Sappho. In this work, the pictures, incidents, and conversations reflect a state ofsociety, in which "the degrees and shades of friendship, from deepPlatonic love to the slight impression one person makes on another atfirst meeting, are the real pre-occupations of existence; thesmallest grace of mind or manner is observed, and of importance;there is an intense epicurism in companionship; it is both the firstoccupation and the greatest pleasure of life. " The second edition ofan English translation of the whole ten volumes of the "Grand Cyrus"was published in London in 1691. The translator, F. G. , Esq. , erroneously attributes the authorship to "that famous wit of France, Monsieur de Scudéry, Governour of Nostre-Dame. " He confounds thesister with the brother. It is dedicated to Queen Mary, wife ofWilliam of Orange, in a style of sonorous pomp, worthy of the courtof Nadir Shah. In his preface, F. G. Says, "If you ask what thesubject is; 'Tis the Height of Prowess, intermixed with Virtuous andHeroick Love; consequently the language lofty, and becoming theGrandeur of the Illustrious Personages that speak; so far from theleast Sully of what may be thought Vain or Fulsom, that there is notanything to provoke a Blush from the most modest Virgin; while Loveand Honour are in a seeming Contention which shall best instruct thewilling ear with most Delight. " In describing the deep and rarefriendships with which the "Grand Cyrus" abounds, Mademoiselle deScudéry had but to look into her own heart, and make copies from herexperience. Especially might the union of Sappho and Phaon stand forthe picture of her own connection with Pélisson. " The exchange oftheir thoughts was so sincere that all those in Sappho's mind passedinto Phaon's, and all those in Phaon's came into Sappho's. They toldeach other every particular of their lives; and so perfect was theirunion, that nothing was ever seen equal to it. Never did love join somuch purity to so much ardor. He wished for nothing beyond thepossession of her heart. They understood each other without words, and saw their whole hearts in each other's eyes. " Pélisson wastwenty-nine, and Mademoiselle de Scudéry forty-five, when they firstmet. Their instant mutual interest deepened, on more thoroughacquaintance, into the warmest esteem and affection, and remainedunshaken for over forty years. The perfection of their intimacy wasknown to every one; and every one believed in its entire purity. Cousin says it is touching to see these two noble persons made sohappy by their friendship, a friendship which even the coarse andslanderous Tallement respected so much that he refrained from castinga single sneer at it. The story of Pélisson's imprisonment in theBastile is known to the whole world by the anecdote of the spider. 

His only companion, during those wretched years, was a large spider, which he had tamed, and was accustomed to feed and play with. Oneday, the brute of a jailer trod on him, and killed him; and Passonwept. His friend employed all her ingenuity, during his confinement, in inventing means of communication with him. "At times, when he wasready to fall into despair, a few lines would reach him, and bringhim comfort. " At length his prison was opened, and fortune smiledagain. At his death, Mademoiselle de Scudéry, though eighty-six yearsold, wrote and published a simple and affecting memoir of him, payinga deserved tribute to his character, in which, she said, therereigned a singular and most charming combination of tenderness, delicacy, and generosity. The most constant among the large circle ofadmiring friends drawn around Madame de Sévigné by her merits andcharms was a cultivated Italian gentleman named Corbinelli, who livedin Paris, on a moderate income, asking only leisure, and thegratification of his high tastes. He was "one of those rareexceptions who seem created by nature to be the benevolent spectatorsof human events, without taking any part in them beyond that ofobservation and interest for the actors. " He had talents equal to thegreatest achievements, but was indolent and unambitious. 

He was one of the earliest to discern and to proclaim Madame deSévigné's exquisite superiority of mind, disposition, and manners, and to pay reverential court to her. Lamartine gives this account ofthe friendship that ensued--an account not less instructive thaninteresting: "His admiration, his worship, which sought no return, gained him admittance to her house, where he was regarded as one ofthe family, and became a necessary appendage. Madame de Sévigné, atfirst charmed by his wit, afterward touched by his disinterestedattachment, concluded by making him the confidant of her most secretemotions. Every heart that beats warmly beneath its own bosom seeksto hear itself repeated in that of another. Corbinelli became theecho of Madame de Sévigné's mind, soul, and existence. Heparticipated in her adoration of her daughter. At Paris, he visitedher every day: he sometimes followed her to Livry; and, when absent, corresponded with her frequently. 

"The dominion which his friend exercised over him was so gentle, thathe experienced no feeling of slavery while submitting 'implicitly tothe rule of her tastes. So absolute was her empire, that, when shebecame a devotee, he became a mystic: he followed her, as thesatellite accompanies the planet, from the worldly gayeties of heryouth, even to the foot of the altar, and the ascetic self-denial ofPort-Royal. He survived her, as though he had survived himself, andlived to the extraordinary age of one hundred and four years, animated to unusual life by his gentle and amiable feelings. Such wasMadame de Sévigné's principal friend. If his name were erased fromher letters, the monument would be mutilated. " La Rochefoucauld, whose reputation the indignant eloquence of Cousin has so damaged, was the object of an admiring friendship, of which he was not worthy, from Madame de Sévigné and Madame de la Fayette. But of all thefriends to whom the ardent, imaginative, faithful heart of Madame deSévigné attached itself, no one, after her husband and her daughter, held so commanding a place as Fouquet, the unfortunate minister ofLouis XIV. Fouquet must have had rare traits, besides hisacknowledged greatness of mind, to have won such a pure andunconquerable affection. Cast down from power, disgraced, closelyimprisoned for fifteen years in the fortress of Pignerol, scoffed atby those who had fawned on him in his prosperity, and forgotten bynearly all whom he had befriended, never did Madame de Sévigné forgethim, or cease, for one day, her efforts to alleviate his condition--cheering him with letters, and toiling to secure his liberation. D'Alembert had a long and sedulously improved friendship with Madamedu Deffand, of whom Henault said, "Friendship was a passion with her;and no woman ever had more friends, or better deserved them. "

There was a basis for this eulogy; but it needs much qualification. She and D'Alembert prized each other's society highly, and passedmuch time together. But jealousy and exaction are tenaciousoccupants, easily recalled to the heart even of an aged and friendlywoman. When D'Alembert formed a closer friendship with MademoiselleLespinasse, the young and charming companion of Madame du Deffand, the latter imperiously dictated the renunciation of the new friend asthe condition of retaining the old. The superiority of temper, genius, and worth in Mademoiselle Lespinasse did not permitD'Alembert to hesitate; and she repaid him with memorable fidelity. The affectionate and dependent girl was harshly driven out. In heranguish, she took laudanum, but not with a fatal result. D'Alembertthen called Du Deffand an old viper; but his friend checked him, andwould never allow any abuse of her former mistress, much less herselfindulge in vituperation of her. When D'Alembert was attacked by amalignant fever, she went to his bedside, and nursed him day andnight till he was convalescent. Marmontel says, "Malice itself neverassailed their pure and innocent intimacy. " She afterwards formed anattachment, of the most romantic character, to the young SpanishMarquis de Mora, who reciprocated her affection with impassionedardor. He died while on the road to join her; and she was not long infollowing him into the grave, though, in the mean time, a stillstronger passion for Guibert had weaned her from D'Alembert. Thefervent tenderness of the latter for her remained unaltered, and hewas inconsolable at her departure. On hearing of her death, Madame duDeffand said, "Had she only died fifteen years earlier, I should nothave lost D'Alembert. " Her letters are famous in the literature oflove. Sir James Mackintosh says, "They are, in my opinion, the truestpicture of deep passion ever traced by a human being. " MargaretFuller writes, "I am swallowing by gasps that cauldrony beverage ofselfish passion and morbid taste, the letters of Lespinasse. It isgood for me. The picture, so minute in its touches, is true asdeath. " Madame de Staël had many devoted friendships, as wouldnaturally be expected from the overwhelming wealth and ardor of hernature. Affinity of genius and a common love of liberty drew BenjaminConstant and her into intimate relations; and she maintained foryears still closer relations with the all-knowing, all-culturedAugust Schlegel, whose devouring egotism and ever-sensitive vanityput all her patience and generosity to the proof. 

The current opinion concerning Madame de Staël, that she was anexacting and disagreeable woman, is unjust. Schiller, who shrank fromher impetuous eloquence, and Heine, whose reckless satire depicts heras going through Europe, a whirlwind in petticoats, both do herwrong. William von Humboldt, who knew her well, pronounces a glowingeulogy on her exalted traits, and says that Goethe, from prejudiceand ignorance, was very unjust to her. Madame Mole says, "Women arenot half grateful enough to Madame de Staël for the honor sheconferred upon her sex by taking up the noble side of every question, armed with her pen and her eloquence, and never once calculating whatthe consequences might be. As time goes on, and details sink intoinsignificance, she will rise as the grand figure who withstoodBonaparte at the head of six hundred thousand men, with Europe at hisback. His vanity was such that he could not bear one woman shouldrefuse to praise him; for that was her only guilt. " She was capableof the utmost magnanimity and disinterestedness. Every exaltedsentiment struck a powerful chord in her heart. She lived in justice, freedom, beneficence, love, aspiration. The friendship of Matthieu deMontmorency, the most intimate and devoted of all her friends, isenough to prove her exalted worth, making every abatement for heracknowledged foibles. This chivalrous nobleman came, in his youth, toAmerica with Lafayette, and fought for the new Republic. Although oneof the foremost members of the aristocracy, it was on his motion inthe Constituent Assembly that the privileges of the nobility wereabolished. Sympathy in opinions and in the generous strain of theircharacters was the basis of a connection between him and Madame deStaël, that constantly grew in strength with the trials to which itwas subjected, and was not severed even by death. When his brother, ardently loved, fell under the axe of the Revolution, it was herdelicate sympathy, her ingenious and indefatigable goodness, thatfirst soothed his anguish, assuaged the horror that threatened hisreason, and prepared the way for religion and peace. And in turn, when she was exiled by Napoleon, Montmorency journeyed to Switzerlandto visit her, at the risk of being banished himself, as heimmediately was. "Matthieu, the friend of twenty years, is the mostfaultless being I have ever known. " "How could he think I shouldtarry in Germany, when, by leaving it, I had a chance of seeing him?All Germany could not pay me for the loss of two days of hissociety. " No unkindness, suspicion, or ignobleness of any sort, everinterrupted or mixed in the affection of these high friends. WhenMontmorency died, suddenly, in church, years after the death ofMadame de Staël, the daughter of the latter, the Duchess de Broglie, instinctively exclaimed, on hearing of the event, "Ah, my God! I seemto see the grief of my poor mother. " The prejudice in England andAmerica against friendships between men and women has operatedconsiderably to lessen their frequency, still more to keep them frompublic attention when they do exist. Undoubtedly, many a charmingEnglish woman, many a charming American woman, in her time the centreof the social circles of fashion, letters, and politics, has beensurrounded by a company of friends as devoted at heart as those whohave gathered with more public homage about the famous dames ofFrance and Germany. Such groups will be called to mind by the Englishnames of Mrs. Montagu, Lady Melbourne, Lady Holland; the Americannames of Mrs. Madison, Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Seaton, Mrs. Schuyler, andmany others. But, since, with the most of these latter, the detailshave not been taken from the category of private property, bypublications of memoirs and journals, it would be impertinent tosingle them out for personal mention, even where it is possible. 

Magdalen Herbert, mother of George Herbert, befriended Dr. Donne inhis distresses, ministering to the wants of his family with generousdelicacy, and comforting him by her society. His discernment of herwit and piety, her gracious and noble disposition, combined with hisgratitude to make him her fast and fervent friend. His conversation, together with that of Bishop Andrews, whose renown Clarendon andMilton unite to swell, appears to have given Lady Herbert greatdelight. Lasting evidence of the impression her character andkindness made on him is found in his verses and letters addressed toher, and in the funeral sermon which, with many tears, he preachedfor her. He says in verse, in her advancing age, No spring nor summer beauty has such graceAs I have seen on an autumnal face. 

And he gratefully writes to her in his quaint prose, "Your favors tome are everywhere. I use them and have them. I enjoy them at Londonand leave them there, and yet find them at Mitcham. Such riddles asthese become things inexpressible; and such is your goodness. " Therewas a choice, ever-comforting, and sacred friendship between thegreat John Locke and the excellent Lady Damaris Masham, the onlydaughter of that ornament of the English Church, the learned andbenignant Cudworth. 

She was one of the most gifted, cultivated, and elegant women of hertime. The genius and moral worth of Locke are well known to all. Domesticated in the family of Lady Masham for many years before hisdeath, giving her all the advantage of his talents, acquirements, andsympathy, "she returned the obligation with singular benevolence andgratitude, always treating him with the utmost generosity andrespect; for she had an inviolable friendship for him. " She watchedby him in his last illness. He asked her to read a psalm to him. Asdeath approached, he desired her to break off reading, and in a fewminutes breathed his closing breath. She wrote the fine sketch of hischaracter published in the "Historical Dictionary. " She says hismanners made him very agreeable to all sorts of people, and nobodywas better received than he among those of the highest rank. "Hisgreatest amusement was to talk with sensible people, and he courtedtheir conversation. " The amiable, unfortunate Cowper, the mostshrinking and melancholy of men, too gentle and too unworldly forcommon companionship, was especially fitted for the soothingministrations and the healing sympathy of women. He was dependent onthese friendships, and found his chief happiness in them. But forthem, his career would have been as brief as it was wretched; and hisname, now haloed with such sadly pleasing attractions, would have hadno place in English literature, except in the dark list of madmen andsuicides. Who that has read his matchless lines on his mother'spicture will not bless the good women who shed so many rays of peaceand bliss on his unhappy lot. His cousin, the angelic Lady Hesketh, whose disinterested tenderness lavished grateful attentions on him, with a sweet skill that failed neither in his youth nor in his age, was as a light from heaven on his path through the whole journey. Some touching verses, and innumerable references in his letters, attest his appreciation of her. Mrs. Throckmorton and her husband, inwhose grounds he loved to walk, and in whose kindly and refinedsociety he spent so many delightful hours, furnished a healthy relieffrom the gloom of his austere religion, in the atmosphere of theirgenial catholicity; and were an invaluable comfort and benefit tohim. Lady Austen also, a sprightly and accomplished woman, ofintellectual tastes, quick sympathies, and charming manners, whoseappearance at Olney "added fresh plumes to the wings of time, " was atone period an inexpressible blessing to him. "Lady Austen'sconversation acted on Cowper's mind as the harp of David on thetroubled spirit of Saul. " He christened her "Sister Ann, " and wrotecordial verses to her. Constant communications with her withdrew hisattention from depressing superstitions, and enlivened his spirits. At her suggestion it was, and under her sustaining encouragement, that he composed the immortal ballad of "John Gilpin, " the "Dirge forthe Royal George, " and his greatest work, "The Task. " Love beingproscribed by his repeated subjection to insanity, friendship was theresource in which he was thrice fortunate. 

Far above all others in the number of his female friends, inimportance, must be ranked Mary Unwin, whose name is indissolublyjoined with his in the memories of all who are familiar with hisplaintive story. Mrs. Unwin, wife of a clergyman, religious after themost scrupulous evangelical type, was first drawn to Cowper by asectarian interest. They were fated to be friends, as by the strikingof a die. "That woman, " he soon wrote to Lady Hesketh, "is a blessingto me; and I never see her without being the better for her company. "This is the secret of the charm of all true friendship--that itsoothes the heart, clarifies the mind, heightens the soul. One feelsso much the better for it. Almost penniless as he was, a shiftlessmanager, assailed by terrible depression and even madness, the Unwinstook him under their roof, and gave him a home on the most generousterms. From this time until her death, the friendship of Mary was anecessity to Cowper, the greatest support and enjoyment the haplesspoet knew, combining with his native humor and gentleness to combathis melancholy malady with frequent and long victories. In his fitsof insanity, she watched and waited on him day and night, defyingalike personal hardships and the slanderous remarks of the vile. Theonly drawback on Cowper's indebtedness to Mrs. Unwin was her jealouswish to restrict him to the society of her own sect of religionists, that harrowing type of piety represented by John Newton. Otherwise, he might have enjoyed much more frequent and prolonged periods ofwhat he cheerily characterized as "absences of Mr. Blue-devil. " LadyHesketh said of her, "She seems in truth to have no will left onearth but for his good. How she has supported the constant attendanceshe has gone through with the last thirteen years is to me, Iconfess, wonderful. " Cowper himself said, "It is to her, underProvidence, I owe it that I am alive at all. " With a devotion inwhich self appeared to be lost, "there she sat, on the hardest andsmallest chair, leaving the best to him, knitting, with the finestpossible needles, stockings of the nicest texture. He wore no othersthan of her knitting. " After nearly a generation of her fond andsedulous ministering, repeatedly stricken with paralysis, her minddecayed, mute, almost blind, as she sat by his side, a patheticmemento of what she had been, Cowper composed for her thatunsurpassed tribute, his exquisite and imperishable lines, "To Mary":

The twentieth year has well-nigh past, Since first our sky was overcast:Ah! would that this might be our last, My Mary!

Thy spirits have a fainter flow:I see thee daily weaker grow;'Tis my distress that brought thee low, My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust, disused, and shine no more, My Mary!

Thy indistinct expressions seemLike language uttered in a dream;Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary!

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sightThan golden beams of orient light, My Mary!

Partakers of my sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign;Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary!

Yet ah! by constant heed, I knowHow oft the sadness that I showTransforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary!

And should my future lot be castWith much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last, My Mary!

Lady Hesketh, ever a true angel, came and dwelt with the afflictedpair. And when Cowper, after four wretched years of separation, plunged, as he expressed it, in deeps unvisited by any human soulsave his, followed his faithful sister-spirit to a better world, LadyHesketh, that model of a third friend, built, in St. Edmund's Chapel, where he was buried, a monument displaying two tablets, both bearingpoetical inscriptions; one dedicated to William Cowper, the other toMary Unwin. The friendship of Garrick and Mrs. Clive is memorable forits sprightliness, sincerity, unbroken harmony-saving a few momentaryquarrels for relish--long duration, and the large measure of happinessit yielded. Their correspondence is very entertaining, and reflectshonor on them both. Their talents and virtues contributed in a highdegree to adorn and elevate the profession to which they belonged. Itis an interesting fact, equally creditable to all the parties, that"Pivy, " as they affectionately called Kittie Clive, was as dear tothe excellent Mrs. Garrick as to her brilliant husband. Thefriendship of David Garrick was also one of the most delightfulfeatures in the life of the admirable Hannah More. A letter writtenby Hannah on seeing him play Lear, greatly pleased him, and led totheir acquaintance. Acquaintance soon ripened into a warm esteem, andproduced a friendship of the most cordial--and intimate character, which lasted until death. He declared that the nine muses had takenup their residence in her mind; and both in his conversation and hisletters he constantly called her "Nine. " One day when she andJohnson, and a few others, were at table with the Garricks, Davidread to the company her Sir Eldred, with such inimitable feeling thatthe happy authoress burst into tears. Friendship filled a large spacein the life of Hannah More, administering incalculable strength inher labors, joy in her successes, comfort in her afflictions. It hasleft its memorials in the records of a host of visits, gifts, letters, poems, dedications. Her correspondence with Sir WilliamPepys shows what an invaluable resource a wise, pure, comprehensivefriendship is in the life of a thoughtful woman. Bishop Porteusbequeathed her a legacy of a hundred pounds. She consecrated an urnto him near her house with an inscription in memory of his long andfaithful friendship. Mr. Turner, of Belmont, to whom she was for sixyears betrothed, but broke off the engagement after he had threetimes postponed the appointed wedding-day, always retained thehighest esteem for her, and left her a thousand pounds at his death. She also maintained a most friendly relation, as long as hisincreasing habit of intemperance allowed it, with her early tutor, Langhorne, the translator of Plutarch. On occasion of an anticipatedvisit from her, Langhorne wrote a very pretty poem, beginning, Blow, blow, my sweetest rose!For Hannah More will soon be here;And all that crowns the ripening yearShould triumph where she goes. 

Joanna Baillie and Sir Walter Scott were deeply attached friends. United by a generous admiration for genius, by esteem for exaltedworth and by community of tastes, they were drawn still more closelytogether by many mutual kindnesses, visits, and frequentcorrespondence. A copy of Scott's "Marmion, " fresh from the press, was placed in Joanna's hands. She cut the leaves and began to read italoud to a small circle of friends, when she suddenly came upon thefollowing magnificent and electrifying tribute to herself:

Or, if to touch such chord be thine, Restore the ancient tragic line, And emulate the notes that rungFrom the wild harp that silent hungBy silver Avon's holy shoreTill twice an hundred years rolled o'er;When she, the bold enchantress, cameWith fearless hand and heart in flame, From the pale willow snatched the treasure, And swept it with a kindred measure, Till Avon's swans, while rung the groveWith Monfort's hate and Basil's love, Awakening at the inspired strain, Deemed their own Shakespeare lived again!

Joanna, though taken by surprise, read on in a firm voice, till sheobserved the uncontrollable emotion of a friend by her side. Then shetoo gave way. It is delightful to partake by sympathy in so generousa gift of joy. What a pity it is that such a loving magnanimity asthat of glorious Sir Walter is not more frequent among authors! Thechief advantage of Fox over Pitt consisted in the fascinatingdemonstrativeness of his heart and manners. This won him hosts ofidolizing friends, foremost among whom were many of the choicestladies of the kingdom. 

Pre-eminent among these were the two dazzlingly lovely women, ardentfriends of each other too, Mrs. Catherine Crewe and GeorgianaCavendish, Duchess of Devonshire. They were indefatigable incanvassing for him. On one occasion, when the conflict for votes wasintense, a butcher offered to vote for Fox on condition that theDuchess of Devonshire would allow him a kiss. The enthusiasticcanvasser, perhaps the most beautiful woman then living, granted itamid deafening cheers. Nor was Mrs. Crewe less efficient. At aprivate banquet in honor of Fox's triumph, the Prince of Wales gaveas a toast, "True Blue, and Mrs. Crewe. " She gave in return, "TrueBlue, and all of you. " The Duchess of Devonshire exerted all herpowers, though in vain, to reconcile Burke with Fox, after theirquarrel. On the death of Fox, she wrote a poetic tribute to hismemory. Dr. Beattie, author of "The Minstrel, " so many of whosetouching lines have rung through souls of sensibility and arefamiliar to all lovers of poetry--such, for example, as, Ah, who can tell how hard it is to climbThe steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar:Ah, who can tell how many a soul sublimeHas felt the influence of malignant star, And with inglorious fortune waged eternal war!

enjoyed a delightful friendship with the Duchess of Gordon. He spentthe happiest hours of his saddened life at her castle, in theenjoyment of her unvarying kindness. He sent her books; theyexchanged letters; and in all the brilliant whirl of her life as areigning beauty, an ardent politician, and a leader of fashion, shefully appreciated his worth, and reciprocated his attentions andesteem until his death. 

A friendship of an uncommon character, containing the elements of aromance, has left a monument of itself in two volumes, called"Letters of William Von Humboldt to a Female Friend. " Humboldt, thenan undergraduate at Göttingen, during one of his vacations spentthree days at Pyrmont. Much of this time he passed in the society ofa lovely and very superior young lady who was staying there with herfather. Each was deeply interested in the other, without suspectingthat the feeling was mutual. On parting, Humboldt gave his fairfriend an album-leaf as a memento. The image of the fascinatingstudent was indelibly impressed on her imagination, a centre of idealactivity and accumulation. So, it afterwards seemed, was her imageleft in his imagination. Twenty-six years passed in absence andsilence. Humboldt had become famous and prominent, and was blessedwith a happy family. Charlotte had been married, and was now achildless widow. Deprived of her parents, her husband, her property, she was overwhelmed with misfortunes. Her large property having beendevoted to the State, it occurred to her that her old friend, of thethree youthful days at Pyrmont, now a minister of the king, mightassist her to recover, at least a portion of it, or at all eventsgive her valuable advice as to what to do. She gathered courage towrite him a letter, enclosing his old album-leaf, recalling theirearly meeting, telling how sacredly the memory of him had beenenshrined in her soul, and begging him to counsel and console her inher great distress. The character of the letter was such, revealing aspirit so rich, high, and pure, that the generous nature of Humboldtwas much moved. He at once replied with great kindness and wisdom, and with oars of practical aid. Thus began a correspondence whichlasted until his death, twenty years later, during the whole of whichperiod they only met twice for a brief time. Charlotte's portion ofthe correspondence, which is clot published--so affectionatelyreverential, so transparently sincere and trustful, evidently gavethe great scholar and statesman extreme pleasure, a most variedstimulus. His letters reveal the fragrant warmth of his heart, therare virtues and treasures of his soul, his saintly wisdom, in a mostattractive manner. They were prized by Charlotte as the religion andsanctuary of her existence, and left to be given to the world as aholy bequest after her death. An interesting fact in the character ofCharlotte, often noticed in these letters, and full of fruits in herlife, is that she always had an intense desire to have a friend inthe fullest sense of the word--a desire which was early heightened bythe repeated enthusiastic perusal of Richardson's "Clarissa Harlowe. "This dream had many partial realizations--the most complete andlasting in Humboldt. Rarely has any relation of individuals been sooriginal, and awakened so much interest, as that between Goethe andhis child-friend Bettine. In publishing their correspondence, manyyears after its close, Bettine prefaces it with the remark: "Thisbook is for the good, and not for the bad. " She foresaw how the badwould misinterpret it, yet felt that she could afford to defy theirincompetent construal. She loved Goethe to idolatry--her whole soulvibrating beneath the power of the possession; but the ideality ofthe passion, in her naïve and spontaneous nature, was a perfectsafeguard from evil. Under this spell, all her rich, unquestioningardors of reverence and fondness were as sacredly guided as themovements of Mignon, dancing blindfold amidst the eggs, with never afalse step. Goethe's conduct towards the trustful and impassionedgirl was exceedingly discreet, in its mingled kindness and wisdom. Hefelt the sweetness of her worship; he guarded her, as a father would, from its dangers. But, above all, he was profoundly interested in thespectacle of her young, original, unveiled soul. The electric soil ofher brain teemed with a miraculous efflorescence, on which he nevertired of gazing. It was to him like sitting apart in some stillplace, and watching the secret forces and workings of nature, reflected in a small mirror. Thus Bettine writes from the strangefullness of her mind, in mystic language, to Goethe's mother: "Wouldthat I sat, a beggar-child, before his door, and took a piece ofbread from his hand, and that he knew, by my glance, of what spirit Iam the child. Then would he draw me nigh to him, and cover me withhis cloak, that I might be warm. I know he would never bid me goagain. I should wander in the house, and no one would know who I wasnor whence I came; and years would pass, and life would pass, and inhis features the whole world would be reflected to me, and I shouldnot need to learn any thing more. " And Goethe replies, "Your dearletters bestow on me so much that is delightful, that they may justlyprecede all else: they give me a succession of holidays, whose returnalways blesses me anew. Write to me all that passes in your mind. Farewell. Be ever near me, and continue to refresh me. " Mont Blancstoops, with all his snows, to kiss the rosy vale nestling at hisfeet. Goethe, in the course of his life, stood in the most intimaterelations with a large number of the rarest women. Few men have everappreciated female character so well. No one has exhibited theirvirtues, and pleaded their cause with a more impressive combinationof insight, sympathy, and veneration. 

His many sins towards women deserve severe condemnation and rebuke;but it is an outrageous wrong towards his noble genius to limitattention, as so many critics do, to that aspect of the case. Thewondering love and study which Frederike, Lili, and others drew fromhim; the religious admiration and awed curiosity evoked in him by thespiritual Fraulein von Klettenburg, "over whom, " as he said, "in herinvalid loneliness, the Holy Ghost brooded like a dove;" therespectful affection, gratitude, and homage commanded by theextraordinary merits of his lofty and endeared friends, the DuchessAmelia, and the Grand Duchess Louise--all bore fruits in hisexperience and his works. The revelations they made, the examplesthey set, the lessons they taught, the noble suggestions theykindled, re-appear in the series of enchanting, glorious, adorablewomen--Gretchen, Natalia, Ottilia, Iphigenia, Makaria, and the rest--who, with their artless affection, their self-renouncement, theirwisdom, their dignity, their holiness, their sufferings, appear inhis master-works, breathing presentments of life, for the edificationand delight of generations of readers. He has recognized, moreprofoundly than any other author, the essentially feminine form ofthat divine principle of disinterested love, that impulse of pureself-abnegation, in which resides the redemptive power of humanity;and has set it forth with incomparable clearness and constancy. Atthe close of Faust, he has given it statement in a form whichassociates his genius with that of Dante, and in a kindred height. Itis the womanly element, he would say, worshipful and self-denyinglove, that draws us ever forward, redeeming and uplifting our grossersouls:--

Das ewig weiblicheZieht uns hinan. 

Wieland and Sophia de la Roche were profoundly attached to each otherduring the greater part of their lives. He and his beloved wife wereburied beside her; and a tasteful monument erected over them, accordingto his orders. It bears the inscription, in German, composed by himself:--

Love and Friendship joined these kindred souls in life, And their mortal part is covered by this common stone. 

Hölderlin, whose soaring and fiery soul was caged in too exquisitean organization, lived, for some time, when he first became sick, in a peasant's hut, beside a brook, sleeping with open doors, spending hours, every day, reciting Greek poems to the murmur of thestream. The princess of Homburg, who greatly admired his genius, and his deep, pure sentiment, had made him a present of a grandpiano. In the coming-on of his madness he cut most of the strings. On the few keys that still sounded he continued to fantasy untilhis insanity grew so engrossing, that it was necessary to removehim to an asylum. Silvio Pellico, the story of whose sufferings inthe prison of Spielberg, has carried his plaintive memory into alllands, and the Marchioness Giulia di Barolo were a pair of friendsbrought together as by a special appointment of Heaven. 

When the holy and gentle poet, patriot, and Christian cameout of his prison, with a broken constitution and a wounded heart, into a bleak and prizeless world, the Marchioness--who had long beena mother to the poor of her native city, an assiduous visitor of thejails, a saintly benefactress to all the unhappy whom her charitiescould reach--drawn to him by a strong interest of respect and pity, gave him a home in her house, and supplied him with congenialemployment. Pellico gratefully appreciated her goodness to him, anddeeply reverenced her worth. In works of religion and beneficencetheir lives moved on. He began to write a memoir of his friend; butleft it, a fragment, when his lingering consumption brought him tothe grave. The pious friendship of the Marchioness did not end withhis death. On his tomb, in the Campo Santo, at Turin, she placed acolumn surmounted by a marble bust, and inscribed with this epitaphfrom her own pen:

Under the weight of the crossHe learned the way to heaven. Christians pray for him, And follow him. 

The pathetic life, the gentle sweetness of spirit, the mournful endof Silvio Pellico, are well known to all. The Marchioness di Barolo, whose name is linked to his in the memory of so pure and benign aunion of friendship, lived the life, died the death, and bequeathedthe renown of a saint. 

She said, "It is a great suffering to have done all in your power fora person, and to find only ingratitude in return. There is no angerin this suffering, nor does it necessarily destroy affection; but thewound is buried deep in the heart; and if it has been inflicted byone very dearly loved, no human consolation can heal it. The mostprofitable education persons receive is the one they give themselves, through the love of God and labors of charity. I was a great dealalone in my youth, and I am sure it was good for me. "

Wordsworth's affection for persons, not less than for nature, wasremarkable for its tenacity, the perseverance with which hisattention returned to it, and for the deep, clear consciousness withwhich he cherished it. The most beloved of his lady friends wasIsabel Fenwick, who was a frequent visitor at Rydal Mount during thelast twenty years of his life. She wrote, to his dictation, theautobiographical notes used in the memoir of him. Her admiring anddevoted friendship was evidently a strong inspiration and precioussolace to him. It was for her sake that he built the Level Terrace, on which he paced to and fro for many an hour, in sight of the valleyof the Rothay and the banks of Lake Windermere. Not many finerexpressions of sentiment are to be found in our tongue thanWordsworth has given in his sonnet on a portrait of his dear friendIsabel:

We gaze, nor grieve to think that we must die. But that the precious love this friend hath sownWithin our hearts, the love whose flower hath blownBright as if heaven were ever in its eye, Will pass so soon from human memory;And not by strangers to our blood alone, But by our best descendants be unknown, Unthought of this may surely claim a sigh. Yet, blessed Art, we yield not to dejection, Thou against time so feelingly dost strive:Where'er, preserved in this most true reflection, An image of her soul is kept alive, Some lingering fragrance of the pure affection, Whose flower with us will vanish, must survive. 

Charming had many qualities especially fitting him for friendshipswith women. His sensitive delicacy of refinement, disinterestedjustice, tender magnanimity, earnest culture of every thing beautifuland true, immaculate purity of soul, and burning ideal enthusiasm, made him feel most joyfully at home with women of enlargedsympathies, well-trained minds, and noble aspirations. He was tooshrinking, fastidious, devout, to enjoy intercourse with the rough, hard average of society. 

His diffidence, depression, and loneliness, were soothed andalleviated, his noblest powers inspired, by affectionate communionwith several of the choicest women of his time. "To them, " hisbiographer says, "he could freely unveil his native enthusiasm, hisfine perceptions of fitness, his love of beauty in nature and art, his romantic longings for a pure-toned society, his glorious hopes ofhumanity. And his profound reverence for the nature and duty of womengave that charm of unaffected courtesy to his manner, look, and tone, which won them freely to exchange their cherished thoughts as with anequal. " The following extract from one of his letters to a woman, whose solemn depth of soul and mind, and wondrous range ofacquirements and experience rank her with the very greatest of hersex, Harriet Martineau, is an exceedingly interesting revelation:

"MY DEAR FRIEND, I thought I had spoken my last word to you on thisside the Atlantic; but I have this moment received your letter, andmust write a line of acknowledgment. I know, from my own experience, that there are those who need the encouragement of praise. There aremore than is thought who feel the burden of human imperfection toosorely, and who receive strength from approbation. Happy they whofrom just confidence in right action, and from the habit of carryingout their convictions, need little foreign support. I thank you forthis expression of your heart. Without the least tendency todistrust, without the least dejection at the idea of neglect, withentire gratitude for my lot, I still feel that I have not the power, which so many others have, of awakening love, except in a very narrowcircle. I knew that I enjoyed your esteem; but I expected to fadewith my native land, not from your thoughts, but from your heart. Your letter satisfies me that I shall have one more friend inEngland. I shall not feel far from you, for what a nearness is therein the consciousness of working in the same spirit!" The friendshipbetween Channing and Lucy Aikin, as seen in the rich series of herletters to him, extending over a period of sixteen years, must havebeen a valued resource, enjoyment, and stimulus to them both. Anextract or two will make the reader regret that relations chargedwith such priceless blessings are not more cultivated. "To conversewith my guide, philosopher, and friend, has now become with me not amere indulgence, but a want. I daily discover more and more how muchI have come under the influence of your mind, and what great thingsit has done, and I trust is still doing, for mine. I was never dulysensible, till your writings made me so, of the transcendent beautyand sublimity of Christian morals; nor did I submit my heart andtemper to their chastening and meliorating influences. In particular, the spirit of unbounded benevolence, which they breathe, was astranger to my bosom: far indeed was I from looking upon all men asmy brethren. I shudder now to think how good a hater I was in thedays of my youth. Time and reflection, a wider range of acquaintance, and a calmer state of the public mind, mitigated by degrees mybigotry; but I really knew not what it was to open my heart to thehuman race, until I had drunk deeply into the spirit of yourwritings. You have given me a new being. May God reward you!" Atanother time she writes, "O my dear friend, I was told yesterday thatyou had been very, very ill; and though it was added that you werenow better, I have been able to think of little else since. Whatwould I give to know how you are at this moment! The distance whichseparates us has something truly fearful in such circumstances. "

"Never, my friend, are you forgotten, when my soul seeks communionwith our common Father; and when I strive most earnestly to overcomesome evil propensity, or to make some generous sacrifice, the thoughtof you gives me strength not my own. "

There is something especially attractive, solacing, and noble in sucha relation as the foregoing. It covers a large class of friendshipsexisting between Protestant clergymen and the women who, blessed bytheir instructions and personal interest, have formed an attachmentto them of grateful reverence and sympathy. Such an attachment isoften a communication of profit and pleasure most precious to bothparties. 

Several instances are recorded in the memoirs of Theodore Parker. Hisfriendship with Miss Frances Power Cobbe is particularly worthy ofnotice. She wrote her gratitude to him for the benefits her mind hadderived from his writings. Gratefully appreciating her worth and highaims, he continued to correspond with her by letter until his death. How cordial their relation became; what kind deeds went across it;what delights it yielded; what a deep and pure blessing ofencouragement, joy, and peace it was to them both--appears in the fewletters given to the public. When they first met, the titanic toiler, outworn with his cares and battles, was at the edge of death. "Donot, " said the expiring athlete, "do not say what you feel for me; itmakes me too unhappy to leave you. " During those lingering days oftransition from the earthly state to the heavenly, he dared not trusthimself to see her often. As he said, "it made his heart swell toohigh. " A class of friendships of extreme moral value, and often ofgreat attractiveness, results from the relations of noble and royalwomen with the scholars and philosophers chosen to serve them astutors or advisers. The names of Zenobia and Longinus give us anexample of it in antiquity. If the annals of the crowned houses ofEurope, imperial and provincial, were searched with reference to thispoint, a large number of admirable instances would be brought tolight. On the one side power, rank, grace, patronage, every courtlycharm; on the other side, learning, experience, gratitude, devotedservice, eminent personal worth--could not fail in many instances togive birth to the most cordial esteem, and lead to a charmingintercourse. Such was the case with both Wieland and Herder, andthose queenly ladies, the Duchess Mother and the reigning Duchess ofthe court of Weimar. The relation between Columbus and QueenIsabella, after her chivalrous confidence and patronage--must havedrawn their souls towards each other with a romantic interest, onlyneeding better opportunities for personal intimacy to warm into afervent sympathy. 

The Countess of Pembroke, wife of that Philip Herbert who was thebrother of Shakespeare's friend, showed how tenderly she rememberedher old instructor, Daniel, the poet-laureate, by erecting a handsomemonument to him in Beckington Church, bearing this inscription: "Herelies, expecting the second coming of our Lord and Saviour JesusChrist, the dead body of Samuel Daniel, Esq. , who was tutor to theLady Anne Clifford in her youth. She was that daughter and heir toGeorge Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, who, in gratitude to him, erected this monument to his memory, a long time after, when she wasCountess Dowager of Pembroke, Dorset, and Montgomery. " One of themost beautiful recorded friendships of this kind is that revealed inthe long correspondence of Descartes and his pupil, the PrincessElizabeth of Bohemia. Her charming character and distinguishedattainments add largely to the gratification with which we trace herardent esteem and attachment for her instructor and friend, whosebrilliant genius and adventurous career are of themselvesfascinating. A pleasing little volume by M. De Caren was published atParis so lately as the year 1862, under the title, "Descartes and thePrincess Palatine, or the Influence of Cartesianism on the Women ofthe Seventeenth Century. " An example of a kindred friendship is alsogiven by Leibnitz and his pupil, Caroline of Brunswick. Soon afterthe electoress became Queen of Prussia, she invited him to visit her, saying, "Think not that I prefer this greatness and this crown, aboutwhich they make such a bustle here, to the conversations onphilosophy we have had together in Lutzenburg. " Frederick the Greatrelates that the queen, in her last hours, mentioned the name ofLeibnitz. One of the ladies in waiting burst into tears, and thequeen said to her, "Weep not for me; for I am now going to satisfy mycuriosity respecting the origin of things, which Leibnitz has neverbeen able to explain to me, respecting space, existence and non-existence, and the Infinite. " Frederick adds, that, as "those personsto whom Heaven vouchsafes gifted souls raise themselves to anequality with monarchs, this queen esteemed Leibnitz well worthy ofher friendship. " The philosopher was affected deeply and long by theloss of her who had been his closest and best friend. He wrote, beingabsent at the time, to one of her favorite maids, who was also afriend of his own, "I infer your feelings from mine. I weep not; Icomplain not; but I know not where to look for relief. The loss ofthe queen appears to me like a dream; but when I awake from myrevery, I find it too true. Your misfortune is not greater than mine;but your feelings are more lively, and you are nearer to thecalamity. This encourages me to write, begging you to moderate yoursorrow. It is not by excessive grief that we shall best honor thememory of one of the most perfect princesses of the earth; but ratherby our admiration of her virtues. My letter is more philosophicalthan my heart, and I am unable to follow my own counsel: it is, notwithstanding, rational. " Ascham relates, in his "Schoolmaster, " aconversation he once held with Lady Jane Grey. She said that thesports of the gentlemen and ladies in the park were but a shadow ofpleasure compared with that which she found in reading Plato. And, inexplaining how she came to take such delight in learning, she said, "One of the benefits that ever God gave me is that he sent so sharpand severe parents, and so gentle a schoolmaster. For when I am inpresence of either father or mother, whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry, or sad, be sewing, playing, or dancing, or any thing else, I must do it, as it were, in suchweight, measure, and number, even so perfectly, as God made theworld; or else I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly threatened; yea, presently sometimes, with pinches, nips, bobs, and other ways, whichI will not name, for the honor I bear them, so without measuremisordered that I think myself in hell, till time come that I must goto Mr. Elmer, who teaches me so gently, so pleasantly, with such fairallurements to learning, that I think all the time nothing while I amwith him. " Elizabeth Robinson, afterwards the famous Mrs. Montague, the attracting centre of a noted and memorable association offriends, both men and women, had an exemplary friendship, full ofgood offices and pleasure, and undisturbed by any thing until death, with her preceptor, the distinguished scholar and writer, ConyersMiddleton. Hester Lynch Salusbury, at thirteen, formed a mostaffectionate attachment to Dr. Collier, a guest of her father, whohad volunteered to supervise her education. "He was just four timesmy age; but the difference or agreement never crossed my mind. Afriendship more tender, or more unpolluted by interest or by vanity, never existed. Love had no place at all in the connection, nor had heany rival but my mother. " The young Hester afterwards became thefamous Mrs. Thrale, to all the varied incidents of whose long andclose friendship with Dr. Johnson the world-Wide renown of that greatman has given a universal publicity. The relation of patroness, sustained with such signal grace and generosity, and with suchsoothing and inspiring effect, by many queenly ladies in formertimes, is virtually obsolete now. But it has left memorials never todie; and it is hard to imagine any office which at this day should bemore grateful and gracious, more full of happiness and good to awoman of noble heart and mind, blessed with position, wealth, andculture, than that of extending appreciative sympathy, aid, andencouragement, to young men of genius, in their unbefriended, earlystruggles. It has been strikingly said by that noble woman, SarahAustin, with reference to Madame Récamier, "All who were admitted toher intimacy, hastened to her with their joys and their sorrows, their projects and ideas; certain not only of secrecy and discretion, but of the warmest and readiest sympathy. If a man had the roughdraught of a book, a speech, a picture, an enterprise, in his head, it Was to her that he unfolded his half-formed plan, sure of anattentive and sympathizing listener. This is one of the peculiarfunctions of women. It is incalculable what comfort and encouragementa kind and wise woman may give to timid merit, what support touncertain virtue, what wings to noble aspirations. " Chaucer was thuspatronized by Philippa, queen of Edward III; by Anne of Bohemia, forwhom he composed his "Legend of Good Women;" and most of all byBlanche of Lancaster, wife of John of Gaunt, whose courtship hecelebrated allegorically in the "Parliament of Birds, " whoseepithalamium he sang in his "Dream, " and whose death he lamented inhis "Book of the Duchess. " The beautiful and kindly Lady VenetiaDigby patronized and befriended Ben Jonson. The attentions of so fairand gentle a creature as she was, according to the description of herin his two poems, called, "The Picture of the Body, " and "The Pictureof the Mind, "--could not have been otherwise than most soothing, grateful, and inspiring to him. She was found dead in her bed onemorning, her cheek resting on her hand. 

She past awaySo sweetly from the world, as if her clayLaid only down to slumber. 

Jonson dedicated to her memory the imperishable tribute of his heartin a long poem made up of ten parts. The ninth part is inscribed, "Elegy on my Muse, the truly honored Lady Venetia Digby, who, living, gave me leave to call her so. " These lines are from it:

There time that I died too, now she is dead, Who was my Muse, and life of all I said, The spirit that I wrote with and conceivedAll that was good or great with me, she weaved, And set it forth: the rest were cobwebs fine, Spun out in name of some of the old Nine, To hang a window or make dark the roomTill, swept away, they were cancelled with a broom. 

Lucy, the Countess of Bedford, was likewise a great friend of BenJonson. He has sung her worth in one of the most magnificent of hisshorter poems. She was also a kind and fast friend of Daniel andDonne, both of whom wrote verses in her honor. But Jonson vastlydistanced them both. Exquisite and sublime as his praise was, it wasagreed, by those who knew her, that she fully deserved it. It is aluxury to recall such a tribute:

This morning, timely rapt with holy fire, I thought to form unto my zealous MuseWhat kind of creature I could most desireTo honor, serve, and love; as poets use, I meant to make her fair and free and wise, Of greatest blood, and yet more good than great;I meant the day-star should not brighter rise, Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat. I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride:I meant each softest virtue there should meet, Fit in that softer bosom to reside. Only a learned and a manly soulI purposed her, that should, with even powers, The rock, the spindle, and the shears, control, Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours. Such when I meant to feign, and wished to see, My Muse bade, BEDFORD write, and that was She. 

Milton had many qualities and tastes fitting him to be the delight offemale society, and to delight in it. His natural bent for all thedelicacies of sentiment, for every fine and high range of character, thought, and passion, has strewn many choice expressions of itself inhis writings, and sprinkles his poems with eulogistic allusions tothe virtues and charms of womanhood. These have too much escaped thepopular notice, which has fastened on the numerous stingingutterantes wrung from certain bitter passages of his experience. Scores of critics have dwelt on the terrible traits he has given toDelilah in "Samson Agonistes, " where one has called attention to thebreathing emotion, the celestial coloring, the ineffable sweetnessand grandeur he has lavished on the Lady in "Comus. " For imperishablemonuments of his friendships with the selectest women of that age, behold his Italian lines to Leonora Baroni, his sonnets "To aVirtuous Young Lady, " "To the Lady Margaret Ley, " "To the Memory ofMrs. Catharine Thomson, " and the record of his long and unbrokenintimacy with the admirable and all-accomplished Countess Ranclagh, of whom he said, "She was to me in the place of every want. "

The Duchess of Queensbury was the unfailing friend and encourager ofGay. When Gay died, she eloquently rebuked the vitriolic Swift, forexpressing the heartless sentiment, that a lost friend might bereplaced as well as spent money. Madame Rambouillet was the friend ofVoiture; Madame Sabliere of La Fontaine. Hundreds of similar examplesmight easily be gathered. Few of the French literary men of theseventeenth or the eighteenth century led those disorderly anddisreputable lives which were the calamity and the disgrace of mostof the professed writers of England at that time. Madame Mole justlyobserves, "They owed their exemption from these miseries chiefly tothe women, who, from the earliest days of French literature, gavethem all the succor they could; bringing them into contact with therich and the great, showing them off with every kind of ingenuity andtact, so as to make them understood and valued. If we examine theprivate history of all their celebrated men, we find scarcely one towhom some lady was not a ministering spirit. They helped them withtheir wit, their influence, and their money. They did far more. Theyhelped them with their hearts, listened to their sorrows, admiredtheir genius before the world had become aware of it, advised them, entered patiently into all their feelings, soothed their woundedvanities and irritable fancies. What balm has been found in thelistening look, for the warm and vexed spirit how has it risen againafter repeated disappointment, comforted by encouragements gentlyadministered! If the Otways and the Chattertons had possessed onesuch friend, their country might not have been disgraced by theirfate. Are the life and happiness of the poet, of the man of genius, atrifle? What would human society be without them? Let all who hold apen think of the kind hearts who, by the excitement of socialintercourse and sympathy, have preserved a whole class fromdegradation and vice. "

The extent to which women have been the occasions, the suggesters, and sustaining encouragers of artistic creations in literature, painting, sculpture, and music, will astonish any one who will takethe trouble to look up the history of it. When Orpheus found thatEurydice was gone, he threw his harp away. Women have delighted toadminister inspiration, praise, and comfort, to great poets, orators, philosophers, because it gratifies their natural talent for admiring, and because they are reverentially grateful to the genius which canso clearly read their secrets, and so powerfully portray their soulsto themselves. Sophocles, the highest Greek poet, whose firm anddelicate portraitures of feminine character were not equalled inantique literature, must have had many admirers and friends among thechoice women of Athens. And Virgil, we cannot imagine any high-souled, refined woman knowing the tender Virgil without a respectfuland affectionate attachment. Octavia fainted away when he read beforeher his undying description of the death of Marcellus. The kiss ofAileen Margaret on the lips of the sleeping minstrel, Alain Chartier, is a type of woman's homage to literary genius. The same thing wasshown, a little earlier in the same century, at the funeral ofHeinrich von Meissen, surnamed Frauenlob, from the infinite praiseshe had lavished on the Virgin Mary, and on the female sex in general. After his death in the outer quarters of the cathedral at Mayence, which were set apart for hospitality to strangers and honored guests, a great company of women, it is related, sighing and weeping, borehis coffin to the burial, and poured into his sepulchre such anabundance of wine as ran over the whole circumference of the church. Five hundred years later, the women of Mayence celebrated his memoryby tributary eulogies, and by the erection of a beautiful newmonument, faced with a marble portrait of him. 

Bernardin Saint Pierre says, "There is in woman an easy gayety, whichscatters the sadness of man. " It may be said, on the other hand, thatthere is in the man of literary genius a masterly insight, joinedwith sympathetic tenderness and masculine strength, which administersto woman that reflective and glorifying interpretation, and thatsupporting guidance, whereof she continually stands in such need. What woman would not be proud and grateful at receiving such atribute as that which Waller paid to the Countess of Carlisle, onseeing her dressed in mourning?

When from black clouds no part of sky is clear, But just so much as lets the sun appear, Heaven then would seem thy image, and reflectThose sable vestments and that bright aspect. A spark of virtue by the deepest shadeOf sad adversity is fairer made:No less advantage doth thy beauty get, A Venus rising from a sea of jet!

What woman capable of appreciating the genius of Racine could readthe works in which his choice thoughts and effusive sentiments areenshrined, purified and confirmed echoes of the finest sighs everbreathed by the heart, and not be drawn to him honoring esteem andlove? It was this mastery of the interior life, this impassionedvoicing of its subtilest secrets, that made Rousseau so irresistiblyattractive to women. To the many who befriended him, or paid precioustributes to him in his life, the name of Madame de Verdelin hasrecently been added, by the publication of her correspondence. SainteBeuve has prefixed her recovered portrait in an essay marked by hisbest touches. After quoting her final letter, he says, "From thatday, Madame de Verdelin wholly disappears. She is known only throughRousseau. A ray of his glory fell on her; that ray--withdrawn, sherepasses into the shade, and every trace is lost. " The gifted criticsays he feels a deep gratification in thus recalling the image ofthis generous woman. "She is a conquest for us: we pay the debt ofRousseau to her. " He concludes what he has written with reference tothese friendships of mind to mind, these intimacies of intelligenceand feeling, these affections of women and authors, more tender thanthose of men, and yet quite distinct from love, by saying, withinstructive emphasis, "Evidently, social morality has taken a stepforward: a new chapter, unknown to the ancients, too much forgottenby the moderns, is henceforth to be added in all treatises offriendship. "

Perhaps no author has ever written more that must speak withirresistible power to the inmost hearts of all women who have soulssensitive enough, complex, cultivated, and forcible enough, for anadequate reaction on the richness of his works, than Jean PaulRichter. In all the heights and depths and subtilties of the naturalaffections, and of imaginative or ideal emotion, as well as intruthful and endlessly varied expressions of those mysteries, he hasno equal, scarcely a rival, in literature. In spite of his povertyand confining toil, he made, in his day, a profound personalsensation. And such is the personal spell of his ineffabletenderness, nobleness, and grandeur, even as exerted on the readerfrom his printed pages, that many a strong man, pilgriming thitherfrom remote lands, has been known to kneel with convulsive emotion onhis lowly grave at Bayreuth. His life was heroic in labor, andspotless in purity. When his heart sank in death, it seems as thoughthe earth itself ought to have collapsed with the breaking of sogreat a thing. His sensibility was a world-harp, responding to everytremulous breath of air or flame. Sweet, pure, wise, mighty, modest, no wonder he drew upon himself the affectionate interest of manylofty ladies, and found treasures of inspiration and solace in theirconversation and letters. Reviewing his life in the circle of hisfriends, he seems as a sun, with pale and burning moons and planetsrevolving around him. Charlotte von Kalb; Caroline Herder; Emilie vonBerlepsch; Josephine von Sydow; the mother and the wife of CarlAugust; the daughters of the Duke of Mecklenburg, to whom, as "TheFour Lovely and Noble Sisters on the Throne, " he dedicated his"Titan, " such, with many others like them, were the gracious womenwith whom Jean Paul, in his much-tried life, interchanged homage, friendly counsels, and sacred joys. The intelligent and enthusiasticpraises they poured on him for his works must have been to him adivine luxury. And ah I how much he needed such comforts, he whocould say, in one of his frequent moments of sadness, "Reckoning offfrom the neighborhood of my heart, I find life cold and empty"! Awhole volume of his before unpublished "Correspondence with RenownedWomen" was given to the public in 1865, a glowing treasury of gems ofthe heart. 

Rahel Levin was such a fascinating queen of society, such a signaland fortunate mistress of friendships with celebrated men, that hercharacter and career are on this account full both of interest andinstruction. The secrets of influence, the charms that attractattention, awaken confidence, exert authority, dispense pleasure, andminister to human wants, are scarcely anywhere more clearly shownthan in her person and story. The pronounced character, the uncommontalents, the rare combination of extreme candor and tact, the broad, intellectual culture, and impulsive demonstrativeness of the youthfulJewess, very soon gave her a prominent position in society, and madeher fascination felt and talked about. Her first advent and swayprophesied her future renown as the most celebrated woman in Germanywho has kept an open drawing-room for the practice of conversationand the joy of intellectual society. It was said of her, at thatearly period, "She was full of an obliging good temper, that made heranticipate wishes, divine annoyances in order to relieve them, andforget herself in seeking to make others happy. "

Her thirtieth year she spent in France, where she had the finestopportunities for studying the famous salon-life of Paris. Withoutbeing captivated or at all overborne by it, she no doubt drew manylessons and profited much from it, on carrying her German soul backto her German home. Returning to Berlin, she bewitched all the choicespirits of that city. Married to Varnhagen von Ense, her house was, for a quarter of a century, the rendezvous of whatever was noblest, purest, strongest, most distinguished in Germany. She moved amongthem as a queen, looked up to by all. She had glowing and sustainedfriendships, emphatically rich and faithful friendships, of thehighest moral order, with Marwitz, Gentz, Prince Louis Ferdinand, Brinckmann, and Veit; besides relations of earnest affection andcommunion with many other honored contemporaries, such asSchleiermacher, Schlegel, and Jean Paul. 

In addition to sketches of her by different hands, we possess fivevolumes, drawn chiefly from her own pen and edited by her husband, containing records of her thoughts, portraits of her closest friends, and full accounts of her intercourse and correspondence with them. Inall this literary transcript, as in the course of experience which itcopies, the most conspicuous element is friendship, the reception, reciprocation, culture, and expression of friendship. The king amongher friends was her lover and husband, Varnhagen von Ense; her unionwith whom was not more a marriage of persons, than it was a marriageof minds, souls, interior lives, and social interests and ends. It isprincipally through him, next after her own writings, that welearnthe characteristics of Rahel, which made such deep impressions onpeople, and held them so fast to her. He thus describes her, as shefirst dawned on him amidst the highest society of Berlin: "Thereappeared a light, graceful figure, of small stature, but strong make, with delicate and full limbs, feet and hands remarkably small; thecountenance, encircled with rich, dark locks, spoke intellectualsuperiority; the quick, and yet firm, deep glances left the observerin doubt whether they gave or received more; an expression ofsuffering lent a soft grace to the clear features. She moved in adark dress, light almost as a shadow, but also with freedom andsureness; her greeting was as easy as it was kindly. But what struckme most was the sonorous and mellow voice which seemed to swell fromthe inmost depths of the soul, and a conversation the mostextraordinary that I had ever met with. She threw out, in the mostfacile and unpretending fashion, thoughts full of originality andhumor, where wit was united with simplicity, and acuteness withamiability; and into the whole a deep truth was cast, as it were outof iron, giving to every sentence a completeness of impression whichrendered it hard for the strongest, in any way, to break or rend it. In her presence, I had the conviction that a genuine human beingstood before me, in its most pure and perfect type; through her wholeframe, and in all her motions, nature and intellect in fresh, breezyreciprocity; organic shape, elastic fibre, living connection withevery thing around; the greatest originality and simplicity inperception and utterance; the combined imposingness of innocence andwisdom; in word and deed, alertness, dexterity, precision; and allimbosomed in an atmosphere of the purest goodness and benevolence;all guided by an energetic sense of duty, and heightened by a nobleself-forgetfullness in the presence of the joys and griefs ofothers. "

Such is a glimpse of the Rahel, who, for thirty years, exemplified inher drawing-room, amidst the joy and admiration of the most gloriouscircle of her countrymen, that rich, strong, free, and noble ideal ofwomanhood, which Herder, Schiller, Richter, and Goethe, illustratedin so many of their works. So many contrasted qualities met and werereconciled in her, that different friends and critics report her inquite different likenesses. According to one, she never thoughtpronouncedly, but gave forth the exquisite perfume of thought: herlife was made of tears, smiles, dreams, fantasies, flutterings ofwings, too celestial for the gross air of earth. According toanother, she was too recklessly thorough, and used too shattering anemphasis. In fact, both these sides were true. Gentz, the celebratedpolitician, called her "a great man, " and confessed himself to be, incomparison, a woman. Yet no one who knew her could deny that shestrikingly possessed the best traits of her sex, purity, tenderness, modesty, patience, and self-sacrifice. In 1813, during the horrors ofdisease in Berlin, and the horrors of war in Prague, she gave herselfup with joy to nursing the sick and the wounded. "The feast of doinggood, " she called it. "Never have I seen elsewhere, " said Varnhagen, "such a mass of masculine breadth and penetration, alongside ofwhich, however, swelled, without remission, the warm flow of womanlymildness and beauty. Never have I seen an eye and a mouth animatedwith such loveliness, and yet, at times, giving vent to suchoutbreaks of enthusiasm and indignation. "

Her intellectual power and her tact formed, no doubt, one strongelement of the attraction which drew and kept so many artists, philosophers, preachers, statesmen, and brilliant social leaders byher side. But her heroic and unconquerable truthfullness was a stillmore royal and authoritative trait. She sought for truth; she spoketruth; she indignantly denounced all falsehoods and shams. Some ofher sentences on this point seem burned into the page, as by theflame of a blowpipe. "The whole literary and fashionable world isbaked together of lies. " To those who expressed their respect andadmiration of her she said, "Natural candor, absolute purity of soul, and sincerity of heart are the only things worthy of homage: the restis conventionality. " She wrote to a friend, "Never try to suppress agenerous impulse, or to crowd out a genuine feeling: despair ordiscouragement is the only fruit of dry reasoning, unenlightened bythe heart. " In the following sentence she betrays, by the law ofopposites, the deepest charm of such a nature as her own; namely, athoroughly sincere and fluent spontaneousness of character. "I havejust found out the thing that I most utterly hate: it is pedantry. Tosee such a big nothing in full march is to me the most revolting andthe most unendurable of all sights. "

Another fine and winning quality in Rahel was her profound interestin exalted and original characters, and her ardent veneration forthem. This drew them gratefully to her in return. She had an almostidolatrous admiration for Goethe. All aspirants for true interiorgreatness naturally love and revere those who exemplify their idealto them. She once called Goethe and Fichte the first and second eyesof Germany. A soul capable of such enthusiasm for great souls israre, and is most charming. Her maxim, like that of all the highestand strongest of the guiding souls of our race, was, "Act only fromyour inmost conscience, and only good will come to you. " A vast, tonic freedom and charity breathe in some of her sentences. "Acatholic sympathy with all possible systems; a resolute liberationfrom the exclusive trammels of any; an entire surrender into thehands of Him who wields all possibilities; and an honest dealing withthe depths of our own hearts, this seems to me more than allphilosophy, and a thing well pleasing to God. "

It is no wonder that the favored friends of such a woman honored hereven to the verge of worship, as we find then doing in their letters. Though not technically--or professedly a religious woman, she wasreally one. She felt the mystery of things; she revered theprovidential guides of the race; she owned the law of the whole; shebowed in submissive adoration before God. "Since the decease of mymother, " she said, "I know death better. I see him everywhere. He hasassumed a new power over me. " A fatal disease struck her at sixty-two. Her husband scarcely left her bedside. Until the last, hecontinued to read her favorite books to her. The young Heine, howdifferent then from the dreadful wreck he became! hearing that freshrose-leaves, applied to her inflamed eyes, were grateful, sent herhis first hook of poems, enveloped in a basket of roses. With whatfitter words can we take leave of Rahel and her friends than these ofher own: "I have thought an epitaph. It is this, Good men, when anything good happens to mankind, then think affectionately in yourpeace also of mine. "

The life of Madame Récamier is interesting, in a pre-eminent degree, on account of the warmth, elevation, and fidelity of the friendshipswhich filled it. Her personal loveliness and social charm made her auniversal favorite, and gave her an unparalleled celebrity. But, fullas her career was of romantic adventures, rich as it was in brilliantassociations, its keynote throughout, its strongest interest at everypoint, is friendship. Unlike those of so many of the famous women ofFrance, her friendships were as remarkable for their rationalsoundness, purity, and tenacity, as for their fervor. They were freefrom every thing morbid or affected. An adverse fate forbade the loveto which she seemed destined by her bewitching beauty and grace; anda certain divine chill in the blood, a stamp from Diana in thesenses, turned all the warmth of affection upwards into the mind, toradiate thence in her face and manners, and to make her a highpriestess of friendship. The pure and wise Ballanche, who idolizedher, said that she was originally an Antigone, of whom people vainlywished by force to make an Armada. 

Her nominal husband is supposed by some to have been in reality herfather; the marriage being merely a titular one, to secure hisfortune to her in case of his death by the guillotine, of which hewas then in daily dread. Deprived of the usual domestic vents ofaffection, her rich heart naturally led her to crave the bestsubstitute, friendship. And her matchless personal gifts, togetherwith her truly charming traits of character, enabled her permanentlyto win and experience this in a very exalted degree. Her threeprincipal friends were Montmorency, Ballanche, and Chateaubriand; allthree original and extraordinary characters, and all three worthy inspite of some drawbacks on the part of the last of the extraordinarydevotion she gave them. The letters of these three possess extremeinterest. Especially, those of the first named are the uniquemonument of an affection whose purity and delicacy equalled itsvivacity and depth. 

Matthieu de Montmorency was one of the noblest of the nobility ofFrance, alike in birth and in spirit. In his youth a voluptuousliver, he had afterwards undergone a genuine and solemn conversion. While in Switzerland, the news of the guillotining of his brothergave him such a shock, that it revolutionized his motives and hislife. The gay, impassioned, fascinating man of the world became anaustere and fervent Christian. The rich sensibility he had formerlyspent in amours and display, henceforward ennobled by wisdom andsanctified by religion, lent a singular charm of tenderness andloftiness to his friendships. The memory of his own errors gave agracious charitableness to his judgments; his sorrow imparted anincomparable refinement to his air; his grave and devout demeanorinspired veneration; his sweet magnanimity drew every unprejudicedheart. He had long been a fervent friend of Madame de Staid, when theyouthful virgin-wife, the dazzling Julie Récamier, formed anengrossing attachment to that gifted woman. Drawn mutually to thiscommon goal, the fore-ordained friends soon met. He was then fiftyyears old; she, twenty-three. Her extraordinary charms of person andspirit, her dangers, exposed, with such, bewildering beauty and suchpeculiar domestic relations, to all the seductions of a most corruptsociety, awakened at once his admiration, his sympathy, and his pity. As an increasing intimacy revealed her irresistible sweetness ofdisposition, her many gifts and virtues, Montmorency found himselfever more and more drawn to her by the united bonds of reason, conscience, and affection. He undertook not merely to be her friendin the ordinary pleasures of sympathy, but, as a Christian, under theeye of God, sincerely and profoundly to befriend her. From thatmoment until his death, his devotion, though once severely tried, never faltered nor slumbered. He was to her more than a father and abrother; he was her guardian angel, as pure in feeling, as watchfulto warn, to restrain, to encourage, to support, and console. For manyyears, through trying reverses of fortune, he visited her everyevening. For many years each had a vital share in all that concernedthe other; and, when he died, it was as if a large part of her beinghad been suddenly torn out of her soul, and transferred to heaven. The letters that passed between them form one of the most delightfuland impressive records ever made of Christian friendship, a record inwhich wisdom and duty are as prominent as affection. 

Pierre Simon Ballanche, one of the most delicate and philosophical ofFrench authors, most disinterested and affectionate of men, theperfect model of a friend, was born at Lyons in 1776. He was firstintroduced to Madame Récamier, in 1812, by their common friend, thegenerous and eloquent Camille Jordan. Ballanche, in an enthusiasticattachment to a noble, portionless young girl, had suffered adisappointment so deep, that it caused him to dismiss all thoughts ofmarriage for ever. He sought to ease the burden of rejected love, byletting the sadness it had engendered exhale in a literary work. Thisexquisite work, called "Fragments, " Jordan induced Madame Récamier toread: he also described to her the refined and magnanimous characterof the author. Thus prepared, and aided by her own keen discernment, she immediately detected his choice talents, his rare vein ofsentiment, his abiding hunger for affection. Ballanche was aphilosopher of solitude, a poet and priest of humanity, spending hisdays far from the crowd and uproar of the world, his proper haunt thesummits of the loftiest minds, the mysterious cradle of the destiniesof society. His soul was an "AEolian harp, " through which the music ofthe pre-historic ages played. Chastity and sorrow were two geniuses, who unveiled to him the destiny of man. His philosophy, so redolentof the heart and the imagination, amidst the material struggles andselfishness of the time, has been compared to a chant of Orpheus inthe school of Hobbes. The friendship which Madame Récamier gave thislonesome, sad, expansive, and lofty spirit, was as if a goddess hadcome down from heaven on purpose to minister to him. She brought himthe attention he needed, the sympathy he pined for, the position andpraise which were so grateful to his sensitive nature. She strove towin for him from others the recognition he deserved, to call out hispowers, and to show off his gift to the best advantage. Ballanche wastimid, awkward, ugly, with no wealth, with no rank; but, in the sightof Madame Récamier, the treasures and graces of his soul were anintrinsic recommendation far superior to these outward advantages, and she was ready to honor it to the full. 

Never was kindness more worthily bestowed; never was it moregratefully received. "I often, " he says, "find myself astonished atyour goodness to me. The silent, weary, sad man, whom others neglect, you notice, and seek with infinite tact to draw him out. You areindulgence and pity personified, and you compassionately see in me akind of exile. Together with the feeling of a brother for a sister, Ioffer you the homage of my soul. " From that time, he belonged to her, and could not bear to live separate from her. Under her appreciationand encouragement, he expanded, like a plant moved from a chill shadeinto the sunshine. His devotion was entire, and sought no equalreturn. It was simply the natural expression of his gratitude to her, his admiration of her, his delight in seeing her and in being withher. His love for her, like that of Dante for Beatrice, was areligious worship, a celestial exhalation of his soul, utterly freefrom every alloy of earth and sense. For thirty-four years, he wasalmost inseparable from her. He removed to Paris, that he might lookon her every day. Wherever she travelled, abroad or at home, he wasone of her companions. At her receptions of company, the fame ofwhich has gone through the world, he was invariably an honored andactive assistant. And, despite his deformed face, and uncouthappearance and bearing, he was a great favorite with all the chosenguests at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. To those who really knew him, hislarge, beaming eyes and noble forehead, his disinterested goodness, his literary and philosophical accomplishments, his modestunworldliness and attentive sympathy, redeemed his physicalblemishes, and covered them with a radiance superior to that of merebeauty. The letters of Ballanche to Madame Récamier are charming intheir originality. His praise of her is marked by an inimitable graceof sincerity and refinement:

"Your presence, so full of magic, the sweet reflection of your soul, will be to me a powerful inspiration. You are a perfect poem; you arepoesy itself. It is your destiny to inspire, mine to be inspired. Anoccupation would do you good; your disturbed and dreamy imaginationhas need of aliment. Take care of your health, spare your nerves: youare an angel who has gone a little astray in coming into a world ofagitation and falsehood. "

What a reading of her inmost heart through her envied position, whatmatchless felicity of representation, in this picture of herself sentto her in one of his letters "The phoenix, marvellous but solitarybird, is said often to weary of himself. He feeds on perfumes, andlives in the purest region of the air; and his brilliant existenceends on a pyre of odoriferous woods, kindled by the sun. More thanonce, without doubt, he envies the lot of the white dove, because shehas a companion like herself. "

In his high estimate of her talent, he tried to persuade her toundertake a literary work, the translation and illustration ofPetrarch, which she actually began, but left unfinished. 

"Your province, like my own, " he writes, "is the interior of thesentiments; but, believe me, you have at command the genius of music, of flowers, of brooding meditation, and of elegance. Privilegedcreature, assume a little confidence, lift your charming head, andfear not to try your hand on the golden lyre of the poets. It is mymission to see that some trace of your noble existence remains onthis earth. Help me to fulfil my mission. I regard it as a blessingthat you will be loved and appreciated when you are no more. It wouldbe a real misfortune if so excellent a being should pass merely as acharming shadow. Of what use is memory, if it does not perpetuate thebeautiful and good?"

This league of lofty friendship, of endearing intercourse andservice, held good while a whole generation of mortals came upon thestage and disappeared; and it throve with growing validity in thelatest old age of the fortunate parties. Ballanche believed, afterthe death of his mother, that he saw her, several successivemornings, enter his room, and ask him how he had passed the night. This ocular illusion affords us an affecting glimpse of his heart. Hewrote to his friend, "Antiquity confides its weariness and grief tous, without doubt, to beguile us from our own. " "Had Orpheus nevermet Eurydice, his existence would have remained incomplete; and, inplace of the cruel grief of her loss, he would have known anothergrief not less intense, solitude of soul. " "I am alone, and thesolitude weighs heavily upon me. Permit me to solace myself bytalking a moment with you. " "I protest to you in all sincerity, thatmy one absorbing thought is my warm feeling of friendship for you. Ihave need to be assured by you, and that as often as possible, thatthis sentiment shall not end in unhappiness for me. The thought ofthat is an agony which terrifies me. You are so kind, you have somuch sympathy for all unhappy persons, that I fear it is through pityand condescension that you show kindness to me. " This expression wasin the year 1816; but all such uneasiness soon vanished, and helearned to rely on her sincere cordiality with a serene assurance, which was the richest luxury of his life. 

In 1830, Ballanche, publishing his chief work, the "PalingénésieSociale, " dedicated it to Madame Récamier, in a form whose delicacyand fervor made it one of the most exquisite pieces of praise everpaid in letters. Alluding to Canova's portrait of Madame Récamier, inthe character of the celestial guide of Dante, he says, "An artistenveloped in a grand renown, a sculptor who has just shed so muchglory on the illustrious land of Dante, and whose gracefulimagination the masterpieces of antiquity have so often exalted, oneday, for the first time, saw a woman who seemed to him a livingapparition of Beatrice. Full of that religious emotion which is thegift of genius, he immediately commanded the marble, always obedientto his chisel, to express the sudden inspiration of the moment; andthe Beatrice of Dante passed from the vague region of poetry into thedomain of substantial art. The sentiment which dwells in thisharmonious countenance, now become a new type of pure and virginbeauty, in its turn inspires artists and poets. This woman, whosename I would here conceal, whom I would veil even as Dante does, isendowed with all the generous sympathies of our age. She has visited, with the select few, the haunts of lofty minds. Here, in this seat ofimperturbable peace, of unalterable security, she has formed noblefriendships, those friendships which have filled her life, which, born under immortal auspices, are sheltered alike from time, fromdeath, and from all human vicissitudes. I address myself, then, toher who has been seen as a living apparition of Beatrice. Can sheencourage me with her smile, with that serious smile of love and ofgrace, which expresses at once confidence and pity for the pains ofprobation, for the burdens of an exile that should end, sweet andcalm augury, wherein is revealed, even in the present, the certaintyof our infinite hopes, the grandeur of our definitive destinies?"

When the good Ballanche was taken dangerously ill, Madame Récamierhad just undergone an operation for cataract, and was under strictorders from the physician not to leave her couch. But, on theannouncement of the condition of Ballanche, she immediately rose, andwent to his bedside, and watched by him until his last breath. In theanxiety and tears of this experience, she lost all hope of recoveringher sight. Her incomparable friend received the supreme hospitalityat her hands, and was buried in her family tomb, leaving, in hisworks, a delightful picture of his mind; in his life, a perfect modelof devotion. The removal of this soul, echo of her own; this heart, wholly filled by her; this mind, so gladly submissive to herinfluence, could not but leave a mighty void behind. For, notwithstanding the wondrous array of gifts, attractions, andattentions lavished on her, her deep sensibility and interiorloneliness made her often unhappy. She would sit by herself, in thetwilight, playing from memory choice pieces of the great masters ofmusic, the tears rolling down her cheeks. Friendship was more than adelight: it was a necessity to her. 

De Tocqueville pronounced an exquisite eulogy by the grave ofBallanche, in the name of the Academy. La Prade, in the funeraladdress he delivered at Lyons, the birthplace of the deceased, said, "There was in his mind, in its serenity, its charming simplicity, itstenderness, something more than is found in the wisest and the best. His virtue was of a divine nature: it was at once a prolongedinnocence and an acquired wisdom. Serene and radiant as his soul maynow be in the mansions of peace, we can hardly conceive of it as moreloving and more pure than we beheld it on this earth of infirmity andof strife. " What a delight it is to contemplate the relation thatbound two such spirits together, the measureless treasures ofinspiration, solace, joy, it must have yielded to them both I SarahAustin, who was in Paris at the time Ballanche died, and an intimateof the illustrious circle of friends, says, "I shall never forget thesort of consternation, mingled with sorrow, which this death caused. Everybody felt regret for so pure and excellent a man, but yet moreof grief and pity for Madame Récamier, whose loss was felt to beoverwhelming, and entirely irreparable. " Ampere says, in his cordialand glowing memoir of Ballanche, "While he was composing his'Antigone, ' Poetry appeared to him under an enchanting form. Hebecame acquainted with her, of whom he said that the charm of herpresence laid his sorrows to sleep; who, after being the soul of hismost elevated and delicate inspirations, became in later years theprovidence of every moment of his life. " Ballanche himself oftenassured Madame Récamier, that the ideal of the "Antigone" of hisdreams was revealed to him by her, and that, in drawing this perfectportrait, he had copied largely from her. "It was only throughEurydice, " he writes, "that Orpheus had any mission for his brother-men. If my name survives me, as appears more and more probable, Ishall be called the Philosopher of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, and myphilosophy will be considered as inspired by you. This thought is myjoy. I am now entering on the last stage of my life: howeverprolonged this stage may be, I know well what is at the end of it. Ishall fall asleep in the bosom of a great hope, full of confidencethat your memory and mine will live the same life. " Fortunatefriends! happy in their living union immaculate as heaven, happy inthe grateful admiration and love of all fit souls who shall ever readof them!

And if he grieved because his words, his name, The breath of after-ages will not stir, 'Tis but because he would impart his fame, And share an immortality with her;So might there, from the brightest, holiest flameThat ere did martyrdom of heart confer, Two shadowy forms of Truth and Friendship rise, To seek their home together in the skies. 

Pervading and earnest, however, as were these attachments of MadameRécamier to Montmorency and Ballanche, the crowning passion of herlife was her friendship for Chateaubriand. This grand writer andimposing person has described his first meeting with her:

"I was one morning with Madame de Staël, who, at toilet in the handsof her maid, twirled a green twig in her fingers while she talked. Suddenly Madame Récamier entered, clothed in white. She sits down ona blue-silk sofa. Madame de Staël, standing, continues her eloquentconversation. I scarcely reply, my eyes riveted on Madame Récamier. Ihad never seen any one equal to her, and was more than everdepressed. My admiration of her changed into dissatisfaction withmyself. She went out, and I saw her no more for twelve years. Twelveyears! What hostile power squanders thus our days, ironicallylavishing them on the indifferences called attachments, on thewretchednesses named felicities!"

But it was in 1817, at a private dinner in the chamber of the dyingMadame de Staël, that their real acquaintance began. The literaryfame of Chateaubriand was then greater than that of any living man. He was a lofty, romantic, melancholy person, with a superb head andface, polished manners, and a grand vein of eloquence. Nothing was sodeeply characteristic of Madame Récamier as her enthusiasm forbrilliant minds, noble sentiment and conduct. It was this that had sofascinated her with Madame de Staël. The sure proof of the idealnature of her attachments, their freedom from sensual ingredients, isthis ruling stamp of reverence and loyalty. Those whom she admiredthe most enthusiastically she loved the most passionately. It wasinevitable that her imagination would be captivated with thechivalrous and imposing Chateaubriand, especially at such anaffecting time. "He seemed the natural heir to Madame de Staël'splace in her heart. " Speaking of this overwhelming sentiment, thirtyyears later, she said, "It is impossible for a head to be morecompletely turned than mine was: I used to cry all day. " Montmorencyand Ballanche were greatly distressed, and not a little mortified andjealous. It was not that they had fallen into a lower and narrowerplace in her affection, but that they saw Chateaubriand installed ina higher and larger place. They feared that her peace would bewrecked in wretchedness by an intimate connection with one sodiscontented and capricious, a sort of spoilt idol, a hero of ennui, filled with causeless melancholy, voracious of praise, querulous, exacting, his own imperious and inevitable personality everuppermost. In vain they sought to warn and dissuade her from the newattachment. Montmorency seems to have fancied that the passion wasnot friendship, but love; and faithfully, with solemn energy, headjured her, by all the sanctions of religion, to guard herself. Hesoon learned his error, and gracefully apologized: "When I read yourperfect letter, lovely friend, remorse seized me, and now fills mysoul. I am deeply touched by the proofs of your friendship, and bythe triumphs of your reason. I am, for friendship's sake, proud ofthe exclusive privilege you accord to me of admission andconsolation, and impatiently long to go and exercise the sweet right. Pardon me my letter of this morning. Adieu. Persist in your generousresolutions, and turn to Him who alone can strengthen them and rewardthem. "

The friendship of Madame Récamier and Chateaubriand became moreabsorbing and complete, and was destined to endure with their lives. "It was, " Madame Lenormant says, "the one aim of her life to appeasethe irritability, soothe the susceptibilities, and remove theannoyances of this noble, generous, but selfish nature, spoiled bytoo much adulation. " Her steady moderation, moral wisdom, beautifulrepose, and sweet oblivion of self, were an admirable antidote to hisextreme moods, uneasy vanity, and morbid depression. Communion withher serene equity, her matchless beauty, her inexhaustibletenderness, the experience of her constant homage, soothed hishaughty and mordant, but magnanimous and affectionate, nature, andwere an infinite luxury to him. An admiring recognition is almost anecessity for those highly endowed with genius. And Madame Récamier'sintense faculty of admiration, with her self-forgetting devotedness, exactly fitted her for this ministry. Chateaubriand became the firstobject of her life. Modifying her habits to suit his tastes, she madehim, instead of herself, the centre around which every thing was torevolve. She devised endless means of lending an interest to hisexistence. She listened to every thing he wrote. She drew into herparlor, to meet him, all those persons who could interest or amusehim, or in any way give him pleasure. She diverted attentions fromherself to him with exhaustless skill and generosity. In a poem whichhe addressed to her, he called her the "soft star that guided hispath. "

Such jealousy as can find a place in natures so noble is easily to betraced in the letters of Ballanche and Montmorency. Chateaubriandcalls Ballanche "the hierophant" or "the mysterious initiator, " "theman the most advanced at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. " Ballanche, in turn, calls Chateaubriand "the king of intelligence. " But Madame Récamier'swonderful sweetness and discretion invariably restored theinterrupted harmony. Nor, indeed, did she allow the superiorattraction to cast her old friends in the shade. Several years afterthe death of Montmorency, which happened in church on a Good Friday, Chateaubriand wrote to her thus: "Yesterday I believed myself dying, as your best friend did. Then you would have found one resemblance atleast between us, and perhaps you would have joined us in yourheart. " Five years after their first meeting, Chateaubriand, thenambassador at Berlin, writes to her, "That I shall see you in amonth, seems a kind of dream to me. " Twenty-five years later, twoyears before his death, he writes to her at a watering-place whithershe had gone for her health, "Do not hasten back. I pass my time herein Notre Dame. It is well occupied; for I think only of you and ofGod. " The persistence of an affection so profound and so pure as thatof Madame Récamier bore its proper fruit, and ended by subduingChateaubriand. Gratitude, respect, veneration, struck their roots tothe very bottom of his heart. Little by little, his self-occupiedpersonality yields, and at last he writes to her, "You havetransformed my nature. " When she was alarmingly ill, in the winter of1837, he, together with Ballanche, might be seen, in the coldmornings, "his beautiful white hair blown about by the wind, hisphysiognomy the image of despair, " in the court of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, waiting for the doctor to come out. He then writes, "I bringthis note to your door. I was so terrified yesterday at not beingadmitted, that I believed you were going from me. Ah! remember it isI who am to go before you. Never speak of what I shall do withoutyou. I have not done any thing so evil that I should be left behindyou. " She recovered, and devoted herself more than ever, if possible, through the years of his mental decay, to alleviate and disguise thesad changes that came over him. Blindness began their separationbefore death came. Nothing can more emphatically bespeak her divineself-abnegation than the fact, that, for a long time after she hadbecome perfectly blind, a dislike to trouble others with herinfirmities led her to conceal the misfortune from her generalacquaintance. Her eyes kept their brightness, and her hearing wasmost acute: she recognized, by the first inflection of the voice, those who drew near. The furniture was carefully arranged, always inthe same way, so that she could move about confidently; and manypersons, when she spoke of her "poor eyes, " never dreamed that shehad actually lost her sight. 

After the decease of his wife, Chateaubriand besought Madame Récamierto marry him. She refused, on the ground, that, if she resided withhim, the variety and pleasure his daily visits brought into thetedium of his existence would be destroyed. "Were we younger, " shesaid, "I would gladly accept the right to consecrate my life to you. Age and blindness give me this right. I know the world will dojustice to the purity of our relation. Let us change nothing. " Duringhis last sickness, he was as unable to speak as she was to see. Shehad the fortitude to undergo two operations on her eyes in the hopeof looking on him once more; but in vain. By his bedside when heexpired, she felt the sources of her life struck. She came from theroom with no outward sign of distress, but clothed with a deadlypaleness, which from that hour never left her. Her niece wrote, atthe time, to a friend in England, "Those who, during the last twoyears, have seen Madame Récamier, blind, though the sweetness andbrilliancy of her eyes remained uninjured, surrounding theillustrious friend, whose age had extinguished his memory, with caresso delicate, so tender, so watchful; who have seen her joy when shehelped him to snatch a momentary distraction from the conversationaround him, by leading it to subjects connected with that past whichstill lingered in his memory, those persons will never forget thescene. They could not help being deeply affected with pity andrespect at the sight of that noble beauty, brilliancy, and geniusbending beneath the weight of age, and sheltered, with such ingenioustenderness, by the sacred friendship of a woman who forgot her owninfirmities, in the endeavor to lighten his. "

History scarcely affords a finer instance of the ministrations ofwomanhood to soothe the woes and supply the wants of man than isexhibited in the relation of Madame Récamier and Chateaubriand. Hisegotistic and restless mental activity; his exaggerated, perturbed, and gnawing self-consciousness; his despairing view of men; hisalienation from the spirit of his age, made him most lonely andunhappy. Meanwhile his ardent poetic susceptibility, his soaringimagination, his impassioned tenderness, his knightly sentiments, hisreligious feeling, pre-eminently fitted him to enjoy the moralhomage, the delicate, sympathetic attentions, of a woman crowned withevery exalting attribute of her sex. He appreciated the prize at itsfull worth. When nothing else could any longer interest him, hercharm retained its pristine power. When beyond his threescore andten, he writes to her thus, at different times:

"Other things are old stories: you are all that I love to see. " "I amgoing to walk out with the lark. She shall sing to me of you: thenshe will be silent for ever in the furrow into which she drops. " "Ihave only one hope graven on my heart, and that is, to see youagain. " "Cherish faithfully your attachment to me: it is all my life. You see how my poor hand trembles; but my heart is firm. " "I have butone thought, fidelity to you: all the rest is gone. "

For many years, even after his noble faculties were broken, and hehad lost the use of his limbs, so that he was forced to be carriedinto her room, he passed the hours of every day, from three to six, with her. Amidst the ordinary hatreds, miseries, and indifferences ofsociety, is it not indeed instructive and refreshing to see thisexample of a spotless friendship still yielding, in extreme old age, the interest, the solace, the happiness, which every thing else hadceased to yield?

Chateaubriand devotes to Madame Récamier the eighth volume of his"Memoires d'Outre Tombe. " He recognizes, in her serious friendship, asupport for the weariness of his life, a remuneration for all hissufferings. 

"It seems, in nearing the close of my existence, as if every thingthat has been dear to me has been dear to me in Madame Récamier, andthat she was the concealed source of my affections. All my memories, both of my dreams and of my realities, have been kneaded into amixture of charms and sweet pains, of which she has become thevisible form. In the midst of these Memoirs, ' the temple I am eagerlybuilding, she will meet the chapel which I dedicate to her. Perhapsit will please her to repose there. There I have placed her image. "During the few months that she survived their loss, Madame Récamieroften spoke of Chateaubriand and Ballanche together. Repeatedly, ifthe door chanced to open at the hour when these two friends had beenaccustomed to enter, she started; and, on being asked the reason, replied that at certain moments her thought of them was so vivid, that it amounted to an apparition. Only three days previous to herdeath, she received M. De Saint Priest, and took great interest inhearing him read the eulogy on Ballanche which he was about topronounce before the Academy. 

Besides these three chief friends, Madame Récamier had many otherswell deserving of separate mention. Paul David, nephew of herhusband, was a most devoted and inseparable companion of her wholelife. When she lost her sight, he used to read to her every evening. He was a poor reader; and, perceiving that she was sensitive to thisdefect, he secretly took lessons, at the age of sixty-four, toimprove his elocution. Junot and Bernadotte were her ardent, lastingfriends, and always delighted to serve her. Her rare graces, and hergenerous goodness to Madame Desbordes-Valmore, disarmed theprejudices and won the heart of the gifted but misanthropic Latouche. The Duke de Noailles, who, under the envelope of a chill manner, concealed a conscientiousness of judgment, a constancy and delicacyof feeling, in strong sympathy with her own nature, was admitted tothe rank and title of friend, "a serious thing, " says her biographer, "for her who, more than any one in the world, inspired and practisedfriendship in the most perfect sense of the word. " He held a place inher esteem like that held by Matthieu de Montmorency. One of thelatest and warmest of her friends was the brilliant and high-souledAmpere, introduced to her by Ballanche, who had been an intimatefriend of his father, and who now loved the son with double fervor, adebt which the grateful young man repaid with interest in a nobletribute to his memory. Never did a mother feel a deeper solicitude inthe prospects of a darling son, or exert herself more devotedly tofurther his success; never did a son more thoroughly idolize abeautiful and good mother, than was realized between Madame Récamierand Ampere. Solely to please her, this most entertaining and mostcourted man in Paris devoted himself not merely to her, which wouldhave been easy; but to Chateaubriand, which was difficult. Nothingcan better illustrate her irresistible charm. And nothing can betterillustrate the coarseness and ignorance of many of our critics, thanthe presumption with which one of them, in 1864, speaking of Ampere'sfuneral, says, "He was one of Madame Récamier's many lovers, and wasbitterly disappointed at her refusal to marry him after the death ofChateaubriand!"

Such were the few principal men who penetrated to the centre of thatselect circle, in whose outer ranges of general benevolence the rightof citizenship was granted to so many choice figures. Among the moredistinguished of these latter may be named Benjamin Constant, theDuke de Doudeauville, De Gerando, Prosper de Barante, Delacroix, Gerard, Thierry, Ville-main, Lamartine, Guizot, De Tocqueville, Sainte Beuve. Surrounded by such persons as these, in the humblechamber to which, on the loss of her fortune, she had betakenherself, she presided like a priestess in the temple of friendship, ever pre-occupied with them, their glory her dominant passion, neverherself seeking to shine, but intent only to elicit and display theirgifts. Was it not natural, that they should, in the humorous phraseof Ballanche, "gravitate towards the centre of the Abbaye-aux-Bois"?

Elizabeth Barrett Barrett allows us a few glimpses into twofriendships, which, to a nature like hers, we cannot but think musthave been nobly precious. One, celebrated in her poem of "CyprusWine, " was with Hugh Stuart Boyd, who amused himself during someweary periods in his blindness with the grateful occupation ofteaching her to read Greek. The other was with her cousin, JohnKenyon, author of "A Rhymed Plea for Tolerance, " to whom she soexpressively inscribes the most elaborate work of her life, "AuroraLeigh. "

It is difficult to find any more remarkable example of theinspiration, the balm, and the joy a great man may derive from thepure friendship of an appreciative woman than that which is furnishedin the relation between Auguste Comte and Madame Clotilde de Vaux. Inhis "Catechism of Positive Religion, " and in the preface anddedication of the first volume of his "System of Positive Politics, "he has given quite a full account of this friendship, of itscircumstances and its effects. Comte was a man of an extraordinaryoriginal genius; of profound effusiveness; but excessively proud, andsensitive to affronts. Full of noble thoughts and sentiments, heroically devoted to the pursuit of truth and the good of his race, his outward life was unfortunate. He was poor and lonely. He had manysevere quarrels, disappointments, and vexations. No one appreciatedhim with admiring love. His wife was utterly unsuited to his tastes, and finally deserted him. Meantime he toiled, with a martyr-likepertinacity, at his great task of philosophical construction. Believing his work destined to be of incalculable service to mankind, he rewarded himself, for his vast achievements and his unmeritedsufferings, with an exceptional valuation and esteem of himself. 

Just at this time, sad, weary, solitary, and teeming with suppressedtenderness, he met with Madame Clotilde de Vaux, a young woman of afine feminine genius and character, made virtually a widow by thecrime and imprisonment of her unworthy husband. She seems at once tohave fully appreciated the best side of the genius of Comte, enteredinto his disinterested sentiments, pitied his misfortunes, andministered to his highest wants like an angel. As his disciple andfriend, she lavished on him an enthusiastic admiration and affection. She reflected him, in her esteem and treatment, at a height, and in aglory, harmonizing with his own estimation of his mission. It was acelestial luxury; and it wrought miracles in him. He was transformedinto apparently another person. His scientific and philosophicalcareer became a poetic and religious one. He reproduced the mostglowing and delicate emotions of Dante and Petrarch and Thomas aKempis. The relation between Comte and Madame de Vaux was one ofabsolute blamelessness and purity. For one year only was he allowedto enjoy this divine delight. He was about to adopt her legally ashis daughter, when she died, leaving him inconsolable, save for themelancholy satisfaction of beatifying her memory with his pen, and ofworshipping her in his heart. 

"An unalterable purity, " he says, "confirmed her tenderness, and wasthe cause of a moral resurrection to me during the incomparable yearof our external union. My present adoration of her is more assiduousand profound, but less vivid, than when she was alive. It daily makesme feel the truth of a sentence which once dropped from her pen:There is nothing in life irrevocable, except death. '"

The deep and stern solitude of Comte, the wearisome toils heunderwent, the austere pre-occupations of his mind, the harassmentsand lacerations he had known, seemed to make him doubly susceptibleto the action of the sympathetic instincts, to those pleasures ofpraise and tenderness which aggrandize and sweeten our existence, andconstitute our keenest happiness. No one was purer than he in hislife; no one severer in his condemnation of every form of corruptindulgence. Therefore, no one has had a higher idea of the value offeminine friendship, and no one been more loyal to it in his ownexperience. It is truly touching to read, in the light of his lifeand character, what he has written on this topic. The three guardianangels, for devout and effusive communion with whom he set apart asacred period every day, were, Rosalie Boyer, Clotilde de Vaux, andSophie Eliot, his mother, his friend, and his servant. By prayer andmeditation on these three beloved memories, he cultivated the threechief sympathies, veneration for superiors, attachment to equals, goodness to inferiors. He expresses the deepest gratitude for theprivilege of that friendship, "the tardy felicity reserved for asolitary life, devoted, from the first, to the fundamental service ofhumanity. " Even its removal by death, he said, did not restore hisformer isolation; for the inward treasure of affection it hadbestowed, constantly contemplated afresh in memory, remained thepermanent and principal resource of his life. "She has, now for morethan six years since her death, been associated with all my thoughts, and with all my feelings. "

The injustice of the popular view of Comte's character, in itsdeepest truth, as hard, coarse, despotic, is shown by his favoriteaphorisms. "Live for others. " "Disinterested love is the supreme goodof man. " "Love cannot be deep, unless it is also pure. " "The onething essential to happiness is, that the heart shall be always noblyoccupied. " It is probable that Comte exaggerated the worth of hisfriend, when he ascribed to her "a marvellous combination oftenderness and nobleness, never, perhaps, realized in another heartin an equal degree;" but he did not exaggerate the blessed comfortwhich her friendship was to him, or the power with which it wroughtin his soul. That she was a very superior nature, appears clearlyfrom the few expressions of her mind which are preserved to us. Forexample, she says, "No one knows better than myself how weak ournature is, unless it has some lofty aim beyond the reach of passion. "And again she says, "Our race is one which must have duties, in orderto form its feelings. "

In speaking thus of Auguste Comte, I am not ignorant of his foiblesof character, the morbid side of his ill-balanced mind and heart. Butthe unquestionable greatness and nobleness of the man are so muchsuperior to his weaknesses, and are so much less appreciated by thepublic, that I can treat his memory only with reverence, willinglyleaving to others the ungrateful task of ridiculing or scorning him. He had, no doubt, an exaggerated pride and vanity. But he labored fortruth and his fellow-men with transcendent fidelity. His irascibleegotism made him suffer its own punishment. His lot was lonely andwas painful. The solace of the stainless friendship which MadameClotilde de Vaux brought him appeals to my most respectful sympathy. And it has a lesson which many of those who sneer would be benefitedby appropriating. Let us leave the history with the breathing wordsof Comte himself:

"Adieu, my unchangeable companion! Adieu, my holy Clotilde, who artto me at once wife, sister, and daughter! Adieu, my dear pupil, andmy fit colleague. Thy celestial inspiration will dominate theremainder of my life, public as well as private, and preside over myprogress towards perfection, purifying my sentiments, ennobling mythoughts, and elevating my conduct. Perhaps, as the principal rewardof the grand tasks yet left for me to complete under thy powerfulinvocation, I shall inseparably write thy name with my own, in thelatest remembrances of a grateful humanity. "

When Paul, the Czar of Russia, espoused the Princess Marie deWurtemburg, Sophie Soymonof, then in her sixteenth year, anddistinguished for her accomplishments, was chosen maid of honor tothe new empress. Marie was endowed with rare beauty, and surroundedby seductions and difficulties; but she set such an example ofamiable and solid virtue in her lofty place, that calumny neverassailed her. 

A strong affection, based on mutual esteem and tenderness, sprang upbetween the empress and her maid. This affection was neverinterrupted nor chilled. The fury and puerility, the monstrous prideand jealousy, of Paul, made him constantly quarrel with those whowere brought into close relations with him. The empress alonetriumphed over his outbursts, by dint of unfailing sweetness, modesty, and patience. She smilingly submitted to the capriciousexactions, distasteful exercises, and excessive fatigues he imposed. However bitter her sufferings, the serenity of her soul was nevervisibly altered. But, in sympathizing with the hardships of her kindmistress, Sophie early learned to penetrate the secret of noisy pompand hidden woes, glittering prosperity and silent tears. 

Secretary Soymonof, aware of the precarious tenure by which thedependents of the court held their prosperity, was anxious to securefor his daughter a trustworthy protector, and a handsome position inthe future. He cast his eyes on his personal friend, GeneralSwetchine, a man of an imposing aspect, a firm character, a just andcalm spirit, who had had an honorable career, and was held in highconsideration. Sophie accepted, with her usual deference to herfather's wishes, the husband thus chosen, although he was twenty-fiveyears older than herself. It cost her many a secret pang; for she wasalready in love with a young man of noble birth and fortune, withrare qualities of mind and a brilliant destiny. She knew that heraffection was reciprocated. But, from a sense of filial duty, shesilently renounced him; and, when he in turn resigned himself toanother marriage, she became the warm and steadfast friend of hiswife. This painful renunciation, in the introspective reflection, andthe dissolution of romantic dreams to which it led, was the first ofthose earthly disenchantments, which, shattering and darkening theempire of social ambition, transferred her interest from materialpleasures and hopes to the imperturbable satisfactions of religion. 

The second blow quickly followed. Only a few days after that marriagewhich her father thought promised so much security and consolation tohis old age, the Emperor Paul, in a cruel whim, suddenly banished himfrom Petersburg. Retiring to Moscow, the galling sense of hisdisgrace, the separation from his darling daughter, together with afrigid reception by a friend on whom he had especially relied, plunged him into the deepest grief. A terrible attack of apoplexyswept him away. At the dire announcement, Madame Swetchine sunk onher knees; and, in the spiritual solitude, unable any more to lean onher father, turned with irrepressible need and effusion to God. 

General Swetchine was made military commandant and governor of St. Petersburg. At the head of a splendid establishment, his young wifefound herself in the highest circle of the most brilliant society inEurope; for at that time the Revolution had banished the noblestfamilies of France, and their headquarters were in the Russiancapital. Madame Swetchine always possessed, in remarkable union, anearnest desire for action and companionship, and a strong taste forsolitude and meditation. She managed her life so skilfully, that boththese inclinations were largely gratified. With many of the mosthigh-toned and accomplished persons whom she met, both of the Russiannobility and the French emigrants, she formed earnest and lastingrelations of mind and heart. The most refined, pronounced, andimpressive characters in St. Petersburg, between the years 1800 and1815, were embraced in her friendships. Her leisure hours werescrupulously and eagerly devoted to self-improvement. She engaged ina wide range of literary, historic, and philosophical studies; makingcopious extracts from the books she read, patiently reflecting on thesubjects, and setting down independent comments. The progress shemade was rapid, and soon rendered her a notable woman. 

Paul, full of lugubrious visions and suspicions, one day disgracedGeneral Swetchine by removing him from office. But this officialdismission did not entail banishment, and was followed by no loss ofsocial caste. The general and his exemplary wife continued to liveamidst their numerous friends as happily as before. The interchangeof literary and philosophic ideas shared the hours in theirattractive parlor with the revolutionary and reactionary politics ofthe time. The profound attachments, stamped with reverence and therarest truthfullness, which in those years united many admirablepersons with Madame Swetchine, were frequently reporting themselves, under far other circumstances, in a distant land, half a centurylater. 

In 1833, the celebrated Count Joseph de Maistre was accredited fromFrance to the Russian court. He was then about fifty, a man of purelife, rare genius, and fervent enthusiasm; familiar with the world, with the human heart, and with the loftiest ranges of sentiment andlearning. His zeal for the Catholic Church was extreme. MadameSwetchine, at this time, without being at all a devotee, was asincere member of the Greek Church. She was already familiar with thegreat minds of all ages and lands; and, at this particular period, was earnestly studying modern philosophical controversies, comparingthe ideas of Kant, Fichte, and Hegel with those of Descartes, Pascal, and Leibnitz. Despite the difference in their points of view, and themany other contrasts between them, these two remarkable persons thethoroughly trained master, in whom the gifts of knowledge, eloquence, faith, and finesse, were accumulated; and the meditative, earnest, consecrated young woman of twenty-one had no sooner met than theyfelt the parity and harmony of their souls. They formed an exaltedfriendship, full of solace and happiness to them both, a friendshipcharged with the most important results on the destiny of the woman, since it led to her conversion from the Greek Church to the Catholic, and gave a deep religious inspiration and stamp to her entiresubsequent life. Such minds have a thousand lofty topics of commoninterest to talk of; and they frequently visited each other, exchanging thoughts with ever-deepening confidence and esteem. "Thecold countenance of the Count de Maistre, " Madame Swetchine writes toher dearest female friend, "conceals a soul of profound sensibility. Without praising me, he often says pleasing things to me. " At anothertime, she humorously writes to the same friend: "The Princess Alexisand I have been to spend an evening at the house of the Count deMaistre. From deference to the duties of hospitality, he would notsuffer himself a single moment of sleep. He rose with the palm ofvictory out of this terrible struggle of nature and politeness; butwho can tell at what a cost?" She said that great griefs had purifiedhis ambition, and lent a strange interest to him, elevating andaggrandizing his character. He set an extreme value on herfriendship; and wrote to her, that he should never spare any pains topreserve in its integrity what he felt was an infinite honor to him. He wrote to his friend, the Viscount de Bonald, that he had neverseen so much moral strength, talent, and culture, joined with so muchsweetness of disposition, as in Madame Swetchine. On theirseparation, by a residence in different countries, De Maistre gaveher a magnificent portrait of himself, on the frame of which he hadwritten four verses, adjuring the happy image, in answer to the callof awaiting friendship, to fly, and take its place where the originalwould so gladly be. This portrait she kept prominently hung in herparlor as long as she lived. In one of his letters to her, he writes:"My thought will always go out to seek you: my heart will always feelthe worth of yours. " The memory of this first great friend continuedto hover over her life to the end. In her last days, generouslyoffended by what she thought the unjust strokes in the portraiture ofDe Maistre, presented by Lamartine in his "Confidences, " she took upher pen in refutation, and wielded it with telling effect. Thiseloquent vindication of her old friend, when he had been dead nearlyforty years, was one of her latest acts, and truly characteristic ofher tenacious fidelity of affection. 

The enthusiasm shown by the Count de Maistre for the Roman CatholicChurch awakened a deep interest in Madame Swetchine. This interestwas greatly enhanced by the admirable examples of piety and charityset before her in the lives of several of the French exiles in St. Petersburg, with whom she had contracted friendships. Especially wasshe impressed and attracted by the amiable virtues of the Princess deTarente, the devout elevation of her character, and the triumphantsanctity of her death. Madame Swetchine at length resolved to make adeliberate examination of the claims of the Roman Church, and to cometo a settled conclusion. Providing herself with an appropriatelibrary, acompanied only by her adopted daughter Nadine, in thesummer of 1815, she withdrew to a lonely and picturesque estate, situated on the borders of the Gulf of Finland. Here, through thedays and nights of six months, she plunged into the most laboriousresearches, historical and argumentative. The result was, that shebecame convinced of the apostolic authority of the Roman primacy, andavowed herself a Catholic. Soon after this conversion, the Jesuitswere ordered to leave Russia. Indignant at an order which sheregarded as unjust, she openly identified herself with the cause ofthese proscribed missionaries. The machinations of the politicalenemies of General Swetchine had made his situation disagreeable tohim; and, when he saw those enemies gaining credit, his pride tookoffence, and he determined to leave the country. Madame Swetchine'spassion for travel and observation combined with her new religiousfaith to make this removal less unwelcome than it would otherwisehave been. 

The close of the year 1816 found her established in Paris, where, with the exceptions of a year in Russia, and a couple of years inItaly, she was to reside until her death. The Bourbon nobility, nowrecalled to France, and reinstated in power, repaid the generouskindness she had shown them in St. Petersburg, by giving her a heartywelcome, and lavishing attentions and affection on her. Her deepinterest in charitable institutions soon brought her into intimateand most cordial relations with De Gerando. Baron Humboldt and theCount Pozzo di Borgo, among the earliest to become her friends, wereassiduous visitors at her house; and, in the salon of the brilliantDuchess de Duras, where she was quickly appreciated and made to feelat home, she became acquainted with the most interesting andcommanding minds of France at that time, such as Chateaubriand, Remusat, Cuvier, Montmorency, Villemain, Barante. These persons haveall testified, in turn, to the great impression her character made onthem. 

Madame Swetchine formed with a large number of men of rare excellenceand accomplishments ardent and lasting attachments, which were thegreatest comfort to herself, and administered invaluable inspirationand happiness to them. Among these, particular mention should be madeof her confessor, the pious and venerable Abbé Desjardins; herbrother-in-law, Father Gargarin; Moreau; Turquety; Montalembert; and, at a later date, De Tocqueville, who writes to her, "The friendshipof such as you are, imposes obligations. " Another expression of DeTocqueville must not be omitted here: "Let me thank you for your lastletter. It contained, as all your letters do, proofs of an affectionwhich consoles and strengthens me. I never received a line of yourwriting without being sensible of this twofold impression. The reasonis, I think, that one finds in you a heart easily moved, inconnection with a mind firmly fixed upon abiding principles. Here isthe secret of your charm and your sway. I want to profit more than doby your precious friendship. It distresses me that I succeed so ill. "She was one of those few natures able to forget themselves, take anenthusiastic interest in others, and devote unwearied pains tofurther their interests, sympathize and aid in their pursuits, calm, refine, enrich, and bless their souls. She sustained the idealstandards, and raised the self-respect, of every one who enjoyed thehonor of her regard. Accordingly, no noble man could be intimate withher without grateful and affectionate veneration. M. De Maistre saidof her, "More loyalty, intellect, and learning were never seen joinedto so much goodness. " The Viscount de Bonald said, "She is a friendworthy of you; and one of the best heads I have ever met, effect orcause of the most excellent qualities of the heart with which amortal can be endowed. " The poet Turquety sent her an exquisite poem, descriptive of herself and of his feelings towards her. She wrote inreply, "Before thanking you, I have thanked God for giving your heartsuch an impression of me, unworthy of it as I am. The illusion whicharises from affection is another grace, I had almost said anothervirtue. Your accent has a persuasive sincerity; and faith, when it isvivid, believes in miracles. " And then she thus delicately indicatesher objection to the publication of the verses: "I condemn thischarming flower to enchant only my solitude; but this is the betterto gather its fragrance, and it will survive me. "

An invaluable friendship also existed between Madame Swetchine andAlexander the Emperor of Russia, one of the most interesting andromantic characters of modern time, of whom she said to RoxandraStourdza, "Already above other men, by his glory; by the influence ofreligion, he will be above himself. " When the famous mystical Madamede Kriidener appealed to him, in the name of virtue and of religion, to be true to his own better nature, he burst into tears, and hid hisface in his hands. As she paused apologetically, he exclaimed, "Speakon, speak on: your voice is music to my soul. " She obtained a greatinfluence over him. He had likewise an enthusiastic attachment forNapoleon; and Madame de Kriidener called them respectively the whiteangel and the black angel. His sensibility to all generoussentiments, all thoughts of poetic height and richness, wasextraordinarily tender and expansive. He was often known, in theoverwhelming re-action of his emotions, convulsed with tears, to leapinto his carriage alone, and drive out into the solitary country orforest. Such were the exalted traits of his character, and his manybeautiful deeds, that Madame Swetchine felt her natural relations ofduty and submission transmuted into those of vivid admiration anddevotion. "I fully sympathize, " she writes to her earliest bosom-friend, "with the vivacity of your admiration for our dear Emperor. What a happiness to be able to eulogize with truth! Let us hope weare in the aurora of a most beautiful day for Russia. How pleased Iam at having always seen in his soul that which this day shows itselfwith a glory so fair and so pure! He is a true hero of humanity. Heseems in his conduct to realize all my dreams of moral dignity; and Ifind, at last, in this union of religious sentiments and liberalideas, the long-sought resemblance of the type I carry in my mind, and which has hitherto been qualified as fantastic, the creation of atoo sanguine imagination. In him we see, that, even on the throne, inthe wild tumult of all interests, of all passions, one can remainman, Christian, philosopher; pursue the wisest and most generousplans; and carry into his actions every thing that is beautiful, fromthe highest justice to the most touching modesty. "

Alexander testified his respect and regret, when Madame Swetchinedeparted to reside in Paris, by asking her to be his correspondent. The correspondence was continued until his death, ten yearsafterwards. The Emperor Nicholas, on his accession, restored toMadame Swetchine all her letters; and she allowed an eminentstatesman, in 1845, to read the whole collection. After her death, notrace of it was to be found among her papers. It must possess anintense interest; and it is to be hoped that it still exists, and mayyet one day see the light. 

Perhaps the most intimate and truly devoted of all the friends ofMadame Swetchine was that accomplished member of the French Academywhose biographic and editorial labors have erected such an attractiveand perdurable monument to her memory, the Count Alfred de Falloux. The soul of reverence, gratitude, and love exhales in his sentenceswhen he writes of her. After describing what "she was to all who hadthe inexpressible happiness of knowing her, " he acids, "and this shewill now be to all who shall read her; and death will but give to herwords one consecration more. " But the modesty of M. De Falloux hasnot given the public her letters to him, and has kept his personalrelations with her much in the background. We are left to guess themeasure and the activity of their friendship, from indirectindications. 

On the whole, possibly because of the editor's reticence as tohimself, we are left to believe, that the friend who held thepre-eminent place in the heart of Madame Swetchine, during the lasttwenty-five years of her life, was Father Lacordaire, the illustriousCatholic preacher. A complete picture of this ardent and unfalteringfriendship is shown in the letters of the two parties, gathered in anoctavo volume of nearly six hundred pages. We know not where, in theannals of human affection, to find the account of a friendship morespotless or more morally satisfying than this. The volume whichpreserves and exhibits it will be found by all who are dulyinterested in the psychology and experience of persons soextraordinary, both for their genius in society, and for the quantityand quality of their private experience full of solid instruction andromantic interest. The inner life of Madame Swetchine was a sacredepic: the outer career of Lacordaire, an electrifying drama. Thisdouble interest of a private, spiritual ascent, and of a chivalrousgallantry in the thick of battle, is clearly unfolded in the bookbefore us. 

The chivalrous young Count de Montalembert was one of the dearestfriends of Madame Swetchine. She said that his soul seemed formedunder the inspiration of the fine thought of Plato: "The beautiful asa means of reaching the true. " Behold, in the following extract fromone of the many letters in which she strove to pacify his perturbedspirit, by recalling him from the war of politics, and reconcilinghis passionate reformatory sentiments with the ruling principles andauthorities of the Catholic Church, the tender wisdom and affectionwith which she speaks: "You seize only on the disinterested andpoetic side of these questions, but all the same you are in thebattle, giving and taking blows. And thus, with a mind perfectlyhigh-toned and honorable, a crystal which is almost a diamond, withfaultless habits, and all the believing and pious sentiments theyinvolve, you have neither the heart's sweet joy nor its sweet peace. The reason why you are so ill at ease, is, that your conscience liesso near your heart that their voices and their troubles areconfounded. My dear Charles, will you not reward me by being all thatmy wishes and my prayers would fain make you? I will not say whetheryou have the power to rejoice or afflict my heart; but, when you wokein me a mother's emotions, I cannot believe that you condemned me tothe sorrow of Rachel. "

One day this beloved young man led to the drawing-room of hismaternal friend his heart's brother, the eloquent Lacordaire, then inthe early renown of his wonderful career of ecclesiastical oratory. Madame Swetchine had already been deeply moved by his preaching, andwas desirous of knowing him. She quickly won his confidence, andbecame, what she ever continued to be, a ministering angel to hisspirit. She was much older than he, much more profoundly versed inhuman nature, much more soberly balanced and calm in soul. With avigilance, a wisdom, and a tenderness that were unwearied andinexhaustible, she watched his course, studied the wants of his mindand heart, and labored, as need was, alternately to confirm hissinking courage and to soothe his excited imagination. Without beingostensibly such, she was really his spiritual director. "Her subtileand tender spirit, " as Dora Greenwell has remarked, "seems to moveacross his heart, to woo and to caress it to peace and goodness, tocall out its deepest concords, as the hand of the skilled musicianmoves across his instrument, knowing well each fret and chord of thesweet viol he doth love. "

It was the greatness, not the weakness, of Lacordaire, that, beforeloving God, he had loved glory. Few men have spirit enough truly toseek fame: it is notice which they wish. The heart of Lacordaire wasa pure fire, encased in a cold intellect. It reminds us of an intenseflame clothed in transparent ice. Sometimes, he said, he hardly knewwhether his voice was moved from within by the spirit, or fromwithout by renown. In regard to every such scruple Madame Swetchinewas an infallible counsellor. Her advice was as the speech ofincarnate reason and love in their most purified and exalted form. The heavy perfume that drenched his oratoric atmosphere would haveintoxicated most men with self-adulation; but he offset every suchallurement by constantly withdrawing from trifles, excitements, andseductions, and spending long hours in the unbroken solitude ofthought and the awful neighborhood of God. If both these extremesbrilliant public triumphs, and severe seclusion and asceticism hadtheir special dangers, Madame Swetchine was his resistless guardianagainst them both. No one who has not read their correspondence, reaching richly through a whole generation, can easily imagine theservices rendered by this gifted and saintly woman to this holy andpowerful man. Community of faith, of loyalty, of nobleness, joinedthem. It was in looking to heaven together that their souls grewunited. Drawn by the same attractions, and held by one sovereignallegiance, such souls need no vows, nor lean on any foreign support. The divinity of truth and good is their bond. 

No prayer persuades, no flattery fawns, Their noble meanings are their pawns:And so thoroughly is knownEach other's counsel by his own, They can parley without meeting. 

At first Madame Swetchine shrank from the excessive agitation sheunderwent in listening to the great sermons of Lacordaire in NotreDame. "I go through all his perils, " she said: "I tremble at everyrock; I feel every stroke. His way of speaking acts upon the humansoul in the same way as sanctity: it wounds; but it enraptures. " Atlength her attendance on his sermons became so constant, and herpleasure and admiration so obvious, that many of the congregationsupposed her to be literally, as she was morally, his mother. Oneday, as she was leaning against a pillar in the crowded church, herface upturned towards the pulpit, two persons were heard whisperingto each other: "Would you like to see the preacher's mother?" "Why, she died ten years ago. " "No, there she is: look at her. "

The genius of Madame Swetchine was sweeter, serener, more tolerant, than that of her friend. Her influence on him in these respects wasbenignant. He thought more of the strict doctrine: she, more of thebroad and charitable spirit. She once said, concerning dogmas, thatshe could consent to see the ocean filtered to a thread of water, ifit but remained pure. He wrote to her, "My dear friend, you haveproved yourself deficient in holy anger; otherwise you would not havebeen able to tolerate M. " His electric, vehement soul needed exactlythe check her reflective subtilty and prudent consideration gave. Soshe tells him once, "I acted as your ballast, or rather I held you bythe skirts of your garment, to retard your too impetuous movements. Perhaps these are the very attributes with which you would have donewell to invest some one at Rome, who might have united the twoconditions which I fulfilled so perfectly: first, that of not beingyou, either in natural disposition, antecedents, or age; second, andmore essential, that of loving you better than you could possiblylove yourself. "

With the lapse of years, their attachment grew closer and deeper. Lacordaire writes from Rome, "I have been bitterly disappointed innot hearing from you. You know what a need one has of friendly wordswhen one is alone and so far away. " And when the epistle comes, hewrites to her, "I had no sooner opened your letter than my soul wasinundated with joy. " Again he says, "I found in your last letter theexpression of an affection so tender, and a watchfullness so fixed, that I was melted by it, even to tears. " "Your letters are always tome a balm and a force. " In excuse of his own reserve, he strikinglywrites, "Women have this admirable quality, that they can talk asmuch as they wish, as they wish, with what expression they wish:their heart is a fountain that flows naturally. The heart of man, especially mine, is like those volcanoes whose lava leaps forth onlyat intervals after a convulsion. " We find Madame Swetchine saying, inone of her letters to Lacordaire, "I protest against long silences:they are to me that vacuum of which nature has a horror. " Theexceeding care which this discreet woman took always to administerher advice, her praise, or rebuke, in such a way as not to offend orinjure the most sensitive recipient of it, is a rare lesson forothers. Lacordaire once wrote to her, although he knew very well howguileless was the motive of her managements, "You say, dear friend, that you fear to displease me in speaking your thought about me. Iassure you my sole reproach is, that you are too circumspect anddelicate in your style of expression. I appreciate all the more thatflattery which is the guardian escort of truth, because it is whollywanting to me. I speak things out too bluntly; and it is true thatalmost always men need an extreme sweetness in the language of thosewho would benefit them. The heart is like the eyes: it cannot beartoo glaring a light. However, I find you excessive in the art ofshades. " Soon afterwards he says, "Excuse my franknesses; with you, as with God. I can say every thing. " Scarcely ever did a man owe moreto a woman than this eloquent and heroic priest to the heavenly-minded friend who said she loved him as father, brother, and son, allat once. He deeply felt his debt, and faithfully paid it. He paid itin loving words and attentions, while she lived, and in a tribute ofimmortal eloquence when she was dead. "You appeared to me, " he tellsher, "between two distinct parts of my life, as the angel of the Lordmight appear to a soul wavering between life and death, between earthand heaven. " To a common friend he wrote of her, "Her soul was tomine what the shore is to the plank shattered by the waves; and Istill remember, after the lapse of twenty-five years, all the lightand strength she afforded to me when I was young and unknown. " Hededicated to her his "Life of Saint Dominic, " saying, "I wish thatsome one of your descendants may one day know that his ancestress wasa woman whom Saint Jerome would have loved as he loved Paula andMarcella, one who needed only a pen illustrious and saintly enough todo her justice. " Hearing of her last illness, he made a journey ofsix hundred miles, to be with her, and lavished on her every winningword and act that filial love and reverence could suggest; and, afterall was over, he pronounced on her a funeral address, which willalways rank with the highest trophies of his genius. No other wordscan be so fitting as his own to close this sketch:

"She belongs to the nation of the great minds of our age. In a timeof intellectual dependence, when parties bore every thing in theirtrain, she made no engagement, and submitted to no attraction: sheisolated every question from the noise around her, and placed it inthe silence of eternity. A constant simplicity and an equal elevationgave to her ideas a personal influence. This double charm might beresisted; but she could not fail to be loved herself, and to inspirethe desire to become better. Happy mouth, which for forty years madenot an enemy to God, but which poured into a multitude of wounded orlanguishing hearts the germ of the resurrection and the rapture oflife! Alas! dear and illustrious lady. I cannot attach to your namethe glory of those Roman women whom Saint Jerome has immortalized;and yet you were of their race. Conquered for God through thelanguage of France, you wished to live under the French speech; and, quitting a country you alwaysloved, you came among us with themodesty of a disciple and of an exile. But you brought us more thanwe gave you. The light of your soul illumined the land which receivedyou, and for forty years you were for us the sweetest echo of thegospel and the surest road to honor. "

FRIENDSHIPS OF MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS. 

THE first species of exclusively female friendship is that whichexists between mother and daughter. The maternal tie of organicinstinct and moral guardianship on the one side, and the filial tieof respect, dependence, and gratitude on the other, form the ordinaryconnection of mothers and daughters. In exceptional cases, thesebonds of affectionate protection and pious love are lifted out of thefaded commonplace of custom by deep mutual appreciation and sympathy, broadened and brightened into a friendship emphatically worthy of thename. The sight of a mother and a daughter thus happily paired isbeautiful and holy. And there are far more examples of it than theworld knows. 

Probably, the best representation of this union is the one affordedby Madame de Sévigné and Madame de Grignan. These celebrated ladies, among the most brilliant of the long roll of distinguished Frenchwomen, were possessed of every charm of person and spirit, fascinating grace, dignity, intelligence, accomplishments, purity, and generosity. In their early years, they were inseparable. Theyhung on each other's looks and motions. The wish of the mother wasthe instinctive law of the child. The beautiful image of thedaughter, loved to the verge of distraction, seemed gradually tooccupy the whole being of the mother. For, as Madame de Sévignésuccessively lost her idolized husband and her most endeared friend, the unhappy Fouquet, the maternal instinct seemed to take up intoitself all the baffled or bereaved passions, and, magnified andvivified by the appropriation, to transform itself into a friendshipwhich almost annihilated her individuality, beneath the ideal stampand transfused impression of that of her daughter. The pain ofparting from her was like the anguish of tearing the soul out of thebody. During the period of their separation, memory took the place ofsight; ideas, of actions; correspondence, of conversation. Sheconstantly writes to the absent one, and seems to live only for this. Every observation, reflection, emotion, finds a place in the tenderand immortal record. She spares no pains to make her lettersinteresting to the receiver. She writes, "I shall live for thepurpose of loving you. I abandon my life to that occupation. " It isaffecting to note the agitation of the mother at every ruffle on thelife of the daughter. In tracing the thoughts, feelings, events, thatvibrated across the relation between them, one can hardly escape theconviction, that the soul of the younger friend was ideallysuperimposed on the self-abnegating soul of the elder friend, andgoverned it, as the mental processes of a magnetized person are saidto be superseded by the personality and states of consciousness ofthe magnetizer. A single passion has seldom so consistently ruled abeing as the affection of Madame de Sévigné for her daughter; and itwas returned by the latter with all the fervor of which her lessardent nature was capable. The collection of letters in which thesentiment and its manifold workings are enshrined, created, asLamartine says in his eloquent sketch, a new species of literature, and formed an epoch in authorship. "The genius of the hearth held thepen, and the heart flowed through it. The literature of the family, or confidential conversation written out, began. It is the classic ofclosed doors. "

This friendship had an earthly close worthy of its progress. For, when Madame de Grignan was attacked by a dangerous and lingeringmalady, her mother watched incessantly by her bedside, as she hadformerly watched by her cradle. After three months of sleepless care, she had the joy of seeing the beloved patient return to life; but shehad given her own in exchange. "Intense affection alone seemed tohave enabled her to retain existence until the convalescence ofMadame de Grignan, when it fled, having fulfilled its last objectupon earth. She expired in the arms of her daughter, and surroundedby her weeping grandchildren. Her last glance fell upon the beingenshrined in her soul, and restored to health by her care. She wasinterred in the chapel of the Chateau de Grignan. But her letters areher true and living sepulchre. Grignan holds her body; but hercorrespondence contains her soul. "

Another fine example of a noble and glowing friendship between amother and her daughter is furnished by Madame de Rambouillet andJulie d'Angenne. They were equally endowed with loveliness of person, attractiveness of mind, elevation of character, and perfection ofmanners. They were the magic centres of every circle in which theymoved together. When the plague, of which all Paris was in terror, seized Madame de Rambouillet's youngest son, she nursed him; andJulie shut herself in the room with them till the boy died. The sweetharmony of their souls and intercourse was unmarred, unalloyed, inlife and in death. Some mothers make slaves of their daughters; someare slaves to them; some even find rivals in them. Some are preventedfrom forming friendships, by tyranny on one side or byinsubordination on the other; by selfishness there or byheartlessness here. Envy, vanity, fickleness, spite, festeringincompatibilities of character, often prove fatal in these veiled andintimate relations. But when the characters of mother and daughterare happy accords, or accurate counterparts, rich, lofty, ardent, anddisinterested, the solidly assured friendship which results, is afelicity scarcely inferior to any known on earth. The example of sucha relation between Mrs. Browne and Mrs. Hemans was charming. Itsinexpressible preciousness to the sensitive soul of that sweetsinger, every reader of sensibility, who traces the numerousallusions to it in her letters and poems, will recognize withemotion. There is much in the relation between a mother and the wifeof her son to create peculiar interest and love. And they, allowingfor exceptions of an opposite character, become the warmest friendsin unnumbered instances. A better example can hardly be desired thanis furnished in the sweet pastoral tale of Hebrew Scripture. Whatpassage in literature is more pervaded with the pathetic charm of theaffection of the early world than the story of Naomi and her widoweddaughter-in-law, Ruth, the Moabitish ancestress of David and ofJesus? Ruth said, "Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return fromfollowing after thee: for whither thou goest I will go; and wherethou lodgest I will lodge; and thy people shall be my people, and thyGod my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there will I he buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee andme. " So they two, Naomi and Ruth, went till they came to Bethlehem;and there did they sojourn together until the end. 

All the near ties of kindred, by the closeness of association andsympathy naturally consequent on them, must often prove the fosteringoccasions or incentives of warm and lasting friendships between thosewhom they draw together. In thousands of families there is an auntwho becomes to her nieces a friend only less intimate and trustedthan the mother herself. Such was the case with Mrs. Barhauld and herbrother's only daughter, Lucy Aikin. In a multitude of families thereare likewise cousins bound to each other by bonds as numerous andglowing as those of sisterhood. So, too, there are countless examplesin which a wife and the sister of her husband grow into the mostardent sincerity of friendship. An interesting instance of this unionis celebrated by Pliny in his famous panegyric of Trajan. Pliny saysit is a wonder for two ladies of the same quality to dwell in thesame place, without feuds or contention. But he declares that Plotinaand Marciana, the wife and the sister of Trajan, never disputed overthe right of precedence; but had the same intentions, and followedthe same course of life; nay, were scarcely to be distinguished astwo different persons. 

Mrs. Hemans writes, on the eve of the removal of her brother Georgeto Ireland, "I fear I shall feel very lonely and brotherless, as Ihave always been one of a large family circle before. I could laughor cry when I think of the helplessness I have contrived toaccumulate. " And then she adds, with reference to her sister-in-law, "In her I shall be deprived of the only real companion I ever had. She is to leave me on Saturday next; and I am haunted by thosemelancholy words of St. Leon's guest, the unhappy old man with hisimmortal gifts, Alone! Alone!"

THERE is also another unspeakably important class of womanlyfriendships; namely, those subsisting between sisters. In the fourthbook of the Aeneid, Virgil powerfully paints this union in theexample of Dido and Anna. Scott has drawn an impressive picture ofsuch a friendship, in the characters of Minna and Brenda Troil; and astill more affecting one in the story of Jeannie and Effie Deans. Thrown into constant intimacy, with an endearing community ofinheritance, duties, and associations-multitudes of sisters mustbecome ardent friends. The failure of that result, in consequence ofbase qualities, irritating circumstances, or cold and meagre natures, is a great misfortune and loss in a household: the fruition of it isa blessing worthy of the most earnest gratitude of its subjects. Perhaps there is no species of friendship more sure to eludepublicity. It plays its undramatic part in domestic scenes, avoiding, rather than asking, the notice of the world. We need not wonder, thatthere are so few examples of it sufficiently exciting and public toinduce the historian or biographer to narrate their stories. 

Hannah More and her four sisters were a group of happy friends, whokept house together for more than half a century. The union of Hannahand Martha was especially one of entire admiration and fondness. InWrington churchyard the remains of the five sisters rest togetherunder a stone slab, enclosed by an iron railing, and overshadowed bya yew-tree. 

Mary and Agnes Berry, who were such widely courted favorites, in themost intellectual society of the time of their ardent friend, HoraceWalpole, dwelt together, for over eighty years, in entire and ferventaffection: and they now sleep side by side in their grave atPetersham. 

The three wonderful sisters, Charlotte, Anne, and Emily Bronte, werejoined by uncommonly deep and intense bonds. Their strange, fervidpersonalities; their solitary, melancholy lives; their tastes andpursuits; their joys and triumphs, were held in common. Writing toher best friend, Charlotte says, "You, my dear Miss W. , know, as wellas I do, the value of sisters' affection to each other; there isnothing like it in this world, I believe, when they are nearly equalin age, and similar in education, tastes, and sentiments. " In anotherletter, written after she had lost both her sisters, she says, "Emilyhad a particular love for the moors; and there is not a knoll ofheather, not a branch of fern, not a young bilberry leaf, not afluttering lark or linnet, but reminds me of her. The distantprospects were Anne's delight; and, when I look round, she is in theblue tints, the pale mists, the waves and shadows of the horizon. "Let any one, who would understand what these rare natures felt foreach other, read the memoir of her two sisters, prefixed by Charlotteto "Wuthering Heights" and "Agnes Grey. "

In 1846, Margaret Fuller wrote an account of a visit she had justpaid to Joanna Baillie, whom she had long honored almost above any ofher sex. She says, "I found on her brow, not, indeed, a coronal ofgold, but a serenity and strength undimmed and unbroken by the weightof more than fourscore years, or by the scanty appreciation which herthoughts have received. We found her in her little calm retreat, atHampstead, surrounded by marks of love and reverence fromdistinguished and excellent friends. Near her was the sister, olderthan herself, yet still sprightly and full of active kindness, whosecharacter, and their mutual relations, she has, in one of her lastpoems, indicated with such a happy mixture of sagacity, humor, andtender pathos, and with so absolute a truth of outline. " Thisadmirable, semi-biographical, semi-psychological poem was addressedby Joanna to her sister Agnes, her dear, life-long companion, on oneof the latest anniversaries of her birthday. It is an interestingfragment in the literature of the friendships of sisters. 

THE friendship of woman with woman, outside of the ties of blood, ispictured with varying degrees of fidelity in the works of manyromance writers and novelists. One of the most glowing delineationsof it, also one of the most famous, is given by Richardson in thecharacter of Clarissa Harlowe. Jane Austen, in her "NorthangerAbbey, " treats it with great insight, in the relations of CatherineMorland, Isabella Thorpe, and Eleanor Tilney. Miss Edgeworth's"Helen" is likewise full of it: both its sympathies and itsantagonisms are forcibly depicted. Helen Stanley is Lady Cecilia'sdouble, her second self, her better self. Lady Katrine Hawksby issuch an acidified piece of envy, so jealous of all her sex, that"every commonly decent marriage of her acquaintance gives her a sadheadache. " That there is truth in this bitter stroke cannot bedenied; but there is truth as well in the extreme opposite. Many agirl, with a sublime self-renunciation, stifling an agony sharperthan death, has given up a lover to a friend, in silence and secrecy. Women are capable of any sacrifice, and their grandest deeds arehidden. Could any woman capable of voluntarily withdrawing herself, in order that her friend might marry the man they both loved, becapable of boasting of it, or willingly letting it be known?

Mrs. Barbauld gives a beautiful description of pious friendship inher hymn beginning, How blest the sacred tie that bindsIn union sweet according minds!How swift the heavenly course they runWhose hearts, whose faith and hope, are one!Their streaming tears together flowFor human grief and mortal woe;Their ardent prayers together riseLike mingling flames in sacrifice. 

Pictures of female friendships, in all their glory and tragedy, theirecstatic fusions and heroic sacrifices, their bitter jealousies andinversions, abound in the great dramatists, who are the crownedexpositors of human nature. Auger, Secretary of the French Academy, in his "Philosophical and Literary Miscellanies, " has an excellentlittle essay entitled, "The Friendships of Women among themselvescompared with the Friendships of Men among themselves; Difference ofthe two Friendships, and the Causes of that Difference. " The essay, though not adequate, is true and suggestive. Charles Lamb's poem of"The Three Friends, "--Mary, Martha, and Margaret--is an extremelytruthful and effective description of female friendship, its fervor, jealousy, estrangement, generosity, and restoration. 

Grace Aguilar has written a work expressly on the subject of Woman'sFriendship. Though not a work of a high order, it possessesconsiderable interest as a tale; and, as a treatment of the theme, itis full of sincere feeling and discriminating observations. In LadyIda Villiers and Florence Leslie we have a picture of a pair of noblefriends, proof against every trial. The black-hearted falsehood andhate of Flora Rivers form an effective foil; and, incidentally, thereare many telling strokes and sidelights on the relations of women toeach other. "It is the fashion to deride female friendship, " GraceAguilar says: "to look with scorn on those who profess it. There isalways to me a doubt of the warmth, the strength, and purity of herfeelings, when a girl merges into womanhood, looking down on femalefriendship as romance and folly. " The subtile and masterly knowledgeof the characters of women, their weaknesses and their strengths, isnot the least of the charms of that consummate work of art, "ThePrincess" of Tennyson. Blanche, Melissa, Ida, Psyche, in theirunions, Two women faster welded in one love Than pairs of wedlock, intheir jealousies, quarrels, aspirations, sorrows, are psychologicalstudies full of delicate truth. Mrs. Browning's "Aurora Leigh"discusses many of the same topics, in a manner characteristicallycontrasting with Tennyson's, but marked by all her ownconscientiousness, power, and care. Lady Waldemar, Marian Erle, Aurora Leigh, with the unsparing censures, magnanimous thoughts, andburning aspirations strewn through this profound and massive work, are lasting lessons for all womankind. It seems to have been mucheasier for most of the critics of this great work to feel itsartistic faults, its jarring metre, and cumbrous forms, than toappreciate the transcendent nobleness and wisdom wrought into it fromthe soul of its creator. 

School-girl friendships are a proverb in all mouths. They form one ofthe largest classes of those human attachments whose idealizing powerand sympathetic interfusions glorify the world and sweeten existence. With what quick trust and ardor, what eager relish, these susceptiblecreatures, before whom heavenly illusions float, surrender themselvesto each other, taste all the raptures of confidential conversation, lift veil after veil till every secret is bare, and, hand in hand, with glowing feet, tread the paths of paradise Perhaps a moreimpassioned portrayal of this kind of union is not to be found inliterature than the picture in "A Midsummer-Night's Dream, " whichShakespeare makes Helena hold before Hermia, when the death of theirlove was threatened by the appearance of Lysander and Demetrius:

Is all the counsel that we two have shared, The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, When we have chid the hasty-footed timeFor parting us, O! is all forgot?All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence?We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our needles ccreated both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key, As if our hands, our sides; voices, and mindsHad been incorporate. So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet an union in partition, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem:So with two seeming bodies, but one heart;Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, Due but to one and crowned with one crest. And will you rend our ancient love asunder, To join with men in scorning your poor friend?

Romantically warm and generous as the friendships of school-boys are, those of school-girls are much more so. They are more purposed andabsorbing, more sedulously cultivated and consciously important. School-girls often have their distinctly defined and well-understooddegrees of intimacy--their first, their second, their third, friend. Thus a thousand little dramas are daily played, full of delights andwoes, of which outsiders, who have no key to them, never so much asdream. Probably no chapter of sentiment in modern fashionable life isso intense and rich as that which covers the experience of buddingmaidens at school. In their mental caresses, spiritual nuptials, their thoughts kiss each other, and more than all the blessedness theworld will ever give them is foreshadowed. They have not yet reachedthe age for a public record or confession of their pangs andraptures; so these dramas are for the most part only guessed at. Butkeener agonies, more delicious passages, are nowhere else known thanin the bosoms of innocent school-girls, in the lacerations orfruitions of their first consciously given affections. A startlingillustration has come to the knowledge of the writer just as he ispenning these words. Two girls, about sixteen years old, attending aprivate school together, in one of the chief cities of the UnitedStates, formed a strong attachment to each other, and were almostinseparable. The father of one of the girls, for some reason, had adislike for the other, and forbade his daughter to associate withher. The two friends preferred death to separation. They tooklaudanum, and were found dead in each other's arms. What element ofromance or tragedy ever known, is not every day experienced, allabout us, under the thin disguise of commonplace?

No doubt there is often something a little grotesque or laughable inthese youthful relations. An anecdote will illustrate it, and, at thesame time, convey the corrective moral. There were a couple ofschool-girl friends, each of whom loved to do and experience whateverthe other did or experienced. One of them accidentally set fire tothe window-curtains in her chamber, and the house came near beingburned down. She wrote word to her friend of the dangerous accident. The other at once proceeded carefully to set fire to the curtains inher chamber, so as to be just like her friend in everything. 

One may well reprove, with a complacent smile of superiority, the folly of the act; but the sentiment underneath should never beridiculed. 

A harrowing instance of the suffering consequent on the overstrungfeelings of girls is furnished by Margaret Fuller in the story of"Mariana, " a vivid autobiographic leaf inserted in her "Summer on theLakes. " Much precious wisdom is learned, many cruel scars arereceived, in these sincere, though often fickle, connections--theseinebriating preludes to the sober strain of existence. There is atouch of sadness in the thought that the earliest friendship of youthmust so frequently fade and cease. But there is comfort for thatsadness in the knowledge that the fair flowers of April are butprecursors of those which June shall fill with the richer fragranceof a more royal fire. 

Oft first love must perishLike the poor snow-drop, boyish love of Spring, Born pale to die, and strew the path of triumphBefore the imperial glowing of the rose, Whose passion conquers all. 

Some of the conditions for friendship between women are furnished ina high degree in the secluded intimacy of conventual life, with itsstimulus of solitude and religious romance. Under such circumstances, Madame Roland, in her youth, had an ardent union with AngéliqueBoufflers. She had likewise a precious friendship of this kind withthe two sisters, Sophie and Henrietta Cannet. Her description of thesisters' arrival at the convent, of the sensation which they made, and of her own love for them, is extrernel, graphic and spirited. Herletters to them, extending through many years, and reaching in numberto near two hundred and fifty, give us one of the best record of thevalue and joy of a friendship whose parties, b: freely unbosomingthemselves to each other, assuage every pang and double everydelight. 

Among the crowds of nuns, young ladies of noble families and refinededucation, early set apart to this mode of existence, with all theirglowing sentiments and dreams undispelled by the cold touch of theworld, the inviting and innocent vent of sisterly love must oftenhave been welcomed as a heavenly boon, and improved with enthusiasm. Also a deep affection, mixed of many choice ingredients of authority, dependence, admiration, sympathy, and tenderness, must frequentlyhave sprung up, and been nourished to an intense development, betweenLady Superiors and their pupils, Abbesses and nuns. The relation ofMother Agnes Arnauld and Jacqueline Pascal exhibits an instance. Thecorrespondence and memoirs of Madame de Chantal afford many strikingexamples. In the Order of the Visitation, founded by her, and whoseoutlines were drawn by St. Francis of Sales, the element of Christianfriendship plays a large part. The Lady Superior has an aide, asister chosen by herself, to admonish and warn her of her faults, andto receive all complaints from those who might feel that she hadwronged or aggrieved them. The duty of the directress of the novicesis to exercise them in obedience, sweetness, and modesty; to clearfrom their minds all those follies, whims, sickly tendernesses, bywhich their characters might be enfeebled; to instruct them in thepractice of virtue, the best methods of prayer and meditation; and togive them a wise and patient sympathy and guidance in every exigency. 

Madame de Longueville and Angeliaue Arnauld formed an impassionedfriendship, worthy of mention as one of the richest on record--afterthe conversion of the former, and her retirement from the world. Unquestionably, if, at the waving of a wand, all the secrets ofconventual life, of the female religious orders, could be revealed, ahost of friendships would swarm to light, many of them as pure asthose which link the white-robed angels. Yet, in affirming this, oneneed not be supposed ignorant of the meagre and repulsive phase ofthe life sometimes led in the convent, its mechanical ritual, itscold rules, and its irritating espionage. 

The unions of heart formed between queens, princesses, or other greatladies, and their favorite maids of honor or their chosen companions, when these happen to be especially congenial, compose a still furtherclass of female friendships. They are very frequent, and areespecially attractive, on account of the scenes of rank and splendor, conspicuous romance and tragedy, amidst which they occur. Kadidasa, in his "Sakoontahi, " that exquisite picture of ancient Hindu life, shows us the beautiful akoontaltl, constantly accompanied by her twoconfidential friends, Priyamvada and Anastiya. In the biographies ofroyal houses, it is a common occurrence to meet with an unhappy queenwho was so fortunate as to find refuge and consolation for thesorrows inflicted on her by an unfaithful or cruel husband, in theever-ready sympathy of some attendant, some true and loving woman ofher court. In the annals of courts, the examples of jealousies andquarrels, of confidants turning rivals, and of maids undermining andousting their mistresses, are also unhappily frequent. So, forinstance, Maintenon displaced her patroness, Montespan; so Anne ofAustria, after years of utter devotion, successively alienated herself-forgetful friends, Madame de Chevreuse, Mademoiselle de laFayette, and the incomparable Mademoiselle de Hautefort; so did theunhappy Marie de Medicis, after half a life-time of lavishedfondness, forsake her faithful Eleonora Galigäi, and turn against herin the cruel selfishness of misfortune and danger. 

Catherine Picard was the beloved companion of Blanche of Lancaster. Her sister, Philippa Picard, was the favorite of Philippa, queen ofEdward the Third. She was so attached to her mistress, that she kepther lover, the immortal Chaucer, waiting for her hand eight years, until the death of the queen set her free. Catherine Douglas, maid ofhonor to the Lady Jane Beaufort, wife of James the First of Scotland, showed her love for her queen by a deed which history and song willnever forget to celebrate. When the assassins were forcing their wayinto the royal chamber, Catherine thrust her beautiful arm into thestanchion of the door, as a bolt, and held it there till it wasbroken. 

Mary Stuart was blessed with the society of four maids of honor, lovely girls of rank, about her own age, named for her, and appointedfrom childhood to be her companions. Their names were Mary Flemming, Mary Seton, Mary Beton, and Mary Livingstone; and they were calledthe Queen's Marys. Through her unhappy fortunes, imprisonments andall, they remained with her, and ardently loved her, whatever hererrors may have been. With the exception of Mary Seton, who, onaccount of illness, had withdrawn to a convent in France, theyaccepted, for the sake of supporting and comforting her, even theanguish of witnessing her execution. 

The attendants of Queen Elizabeth, on the other hand, detested her. When, in her age and ugliness, she would no longer look in a glass, it is said they used to amuse themselves with powdering her cheeks, and rouging her nose. Elizabeth, as a woman, no doubt hated Mary forher fascinations more than, as a queen, she feared her for herpolitical pretensions; and, in spite of every justifying argument, itmust be said, that she treated her with cruel treachery. In theirearlier days, Elizabeth sent Mary a most rare diamond ring as apledge of her friendship, and accompanied it with earnest promises ofaid and sympathy. Aubrey describes this ring as consisting ofseparate parts, which, united, formed the device of two right handssupporting a heart between them, the heart itself being composed oftwo diamonds held together by a spring. The Queen of Scots, in herfinal distress, dispatched this token to Elizabeth by a trustymessenger, and in return was ordered to the block. Mrs. Jamesoneloquently thinks, we must feel that the scale was set even, when weremember how Mary was loved, how Elizabeth was hated, and died atlast in loneliness, writhing on the floor like a crushed spider. However much to be regretted, it is yet natural that the powerfulfacts and logic of the later historians, like Froude, should find ourprejudices so stubbornly set in favor of Mary, and against Elizabeth. They will change slowly; but I suppose they must, in a large degree, change. Sarah Jennings, famous as that Duchess of Marlborough whomPope so fearfully satirized under the name of Atossa, having beenselected as lady in waiting of Queen Anne, was immediately taken toher bosom. The queen asked no subserviency: "Afriend is what I mostwant, " she said. They laid aside all titles, and addressed each otheras equals under the assumed names of Mrs. Freeman and Mrs. Morley. This lackadaisical relation subsisted for several years. At lengthMrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman disappeared in the Queen and theDuchess. The familiarity and arrogance of "Queen Sarah" becameinsufferable to Queen Anne, and the quondam friends parted asirreconcilable foes. Swift says of Queen Anne, that she "had not asufficient stock of amity for more than one person at a time. " Shewould always have a favorite, now, Miss Jennings; afterwards, MissHill, better known as Lady Masham, the earnest friend of Locke; then, somebody else. 

In the terrible romance of the life of Marie Antoinette, the deservedfriendships and the undeserved hatreds that clustered around thestately, affectionate, ill-fated queen, are clothed with exceedinginterest. In the memoirs of the Countess D'Adhemar, the most belovedand steadfast of her attendants, who was equally her watchful servantand her trusted friend, all the details of these attractions andaversions may be found, drawn as only a woman would draw them. MadameGeniis, whose overtures for familiarity were repulsed, plottedagainst her with spiteful vindictiveness. Madame Campan, whom thequeen loved and took into her service, in return idolized and soughtto shield and bless her. By far the first, however, in the heart ofthe queen, was the Princess Lamballe, a young widow, whose charms ofperson and of character made her one of the most universally admiredwomen of that period. The queen revived for the princess the officeof superintendent of the household, that she might live atVersailles. Their attachment, based on mutual esteem and tenderness, and nurtured by many events, grew enthusiastic. It became the fashionfor every lady to have a friend, who accompanied her wherever shewent, to whom morning notes were written, and with whom tea wassipped, and the evening spent, after the pattern of Antoinette andLamballe. The princess showed herself as heroic in devotion to herfriend, amidst the horrible carnival which surrounded the close oftheir lives, as she had been modest, gentle, and sympathizing in thebrilliant season that preceded. A few days before the terrible crisisof the Revolution burst on the head of the queen herself, theprincess, who occupied a room in the palace, adjoining that of herfriend, that she might share all her tears and dangers, was calledfor a short time to the Chateau de Vernon, by the illness of her agedfather-in-law. Marie seized the opportunity to write a letter to herfriend, begging her to take care of herself and not return. "Yourheart would be too deeply wounded, you would have too many tears toshed over my misfortunes, you who love me so tenderly. Adieu, my dearLamballe; I am always thinking of you; and you know I never change. "

The princess hastened back to the side of her imperilled mistress. With unfaltering fondness and resolution she clung to her through thesack which filled the palace with ruins and blood; through thetedious and brutal examinations in the Assembly; and through thefearful imprisonment in the Temple, until the jailers violently toreher from the arms of her sobbing friend. In vain the ferociouswretches in power strove to wring from her something prejudicial tothe queen. The brave and beautiful woman preferred death; and wasdelivered over to the crowd to be murdered. Madame de Lebel, to whomthe princess had been very kind, was going to inquire after the fateof her beloved benefactress, when she heard the howls of anapproaching procession. She ran into the shop of a hairdresser; andwas quickly followed by one of the mob, who ordered the master of theshop to dress the head of Madame de Lamballe. The princess wascelebrated for the length and richness of her fine, golden locks. Atthis very moment, concealed among their bright, clustering masses, was found the letter from Antoinette, quoted above. The barber tookthe poor, disfigured head into his hands, cleansed the face fromblood, and arranged and powdered the ringlets. The ruffian said, "Antoinette will recognize it now;" and, replacing it on the point ofhis pike, moved forward with the mob to the prison of the unhappyqueen, before whose windows they elevated the appalling trophy, atthe same time shrieking to her to look on it. After this experience, and others scarcely less revolting, we may well believe that thehigh-souled daughter of Maria Theresa welcomed the executioner's axeas a blessed relief. We see her, clad in the pale royalty of herpersonal beauty and grief, refusing insult, moving, in the death-cart, through the yelling masses of the populace, to her doom, like agoddess, incapable of degradation, borne in a car above an infuriatedherd of apes, who vainly struggle to drag her down to themselves. Madame Salvage de Faverolles had a passionate faculty of admiration. She was fascinated with Madame Weamer, who was not much drawn to her, though she always treated her with kindness. Her unclaimed affectionat length found its home in Queen Hortense, the daughter ofJosephine, and the mother of Louis Napoleon. She was inseparable fromher, and was called, with a touch of satire or humor, her body-guard. She identified herself with every enterprise, hope, or thought of herfriend; accompanied her on every journey; watched over her in herlast sickness, night and day, with heroic fidelity; and, after herdeath, executed her will in all particulars. The present Emperor ofFrance has always had the credit of an ardent love for his mother. Ajust sentiment of gratitude would seem to require him--if he has notalready done it--to enshrine, with tributary honor, close beside theashes of the unhappy queen of Holland, those of Madame Salvage, themost unwearied and inalienable of all her friends. 

PAIRS OF FEMALE FRIENDS. 

PASSING on from the classes of feminine friendships now described, wecome to individual instances of this affection in pairs of women. Theyoung Beatrice Portinari, and Giovanna, that chosen companion ofhers, who, for the singular freshness of her beauty, was called bythe Florentines, Primavera, the Spring, are immortalized as a pair offriends by the divine touch of Dante, in his "Vita Nuova, " where hementions them under the names of Monna Vanna and Monna Bice. Verylikely they were schoolgirls together, who did not suffer thefondness engendered in their shared studies and painted hopes andopening dreams of life to cease with the close, of that enchantedera. 

Lady Dorothea Sydney and Lady Sophia Murray were a pair of friendswhom it must have been delightful to contemplate, and is still, in apaler way, delightful to recall by literary reminiscence. They werethe Sacharissa and Amoret of Waller. He dedicates a graceful poem totheir friendship. These lines Occur in it:

Not the silver doves that flyYoked to Cytherea's car;Not the wings that lift so high, And convey her son so far, Are so lovely, sweet, and fair, Or do more ennoble love, Are so choicely matched a pair, Or with more consent do move. 

Regina Collier and Katherine Phillips were, for a long period, ahappy pair of friends. Friendship held so large a place in the lifeand writings of the latter lady that a brief sketch of herexperience, and of its expression, will be interesting. The Mrs. Katherine Phillips, to whom Jeremy Taylor dedicated his celebrateddiscourse on the "Offices and Measures of Friendship, " enjoyed agreat reputation among her contemporaries, in the middle of theseventeenth century, and in the succeeding generation, as a woman ofaccomplishments and genius. Now that she is almost forgotten, itsurprises one to read the extravagant published compliments lavishedon her, in her life-time, by so many distinguished persons. The mostremarkable peculiarity, alike of her character and of her literaryproductions, is the extraordinary prominence in them of the sentimentof friendship. She seems nearly all her life to have been enamored ofthis experience. Her affectionate spirit drew people to her by itsstrong charms, and still breathes vividly in her neglected pages. Theovercharged and somewhat fantastic ideal of friendship which sheunweariedly strove to realize in her relations with various persons, was so sincere and earnest in heart, that no one, who appreciates it, can suffer himself to ridicule, though he may smile at, its apparentaffectation on the surface. Its deep ear nestness is proved in herlife and character, as set forth by her associates: its superficialfancifullness appears in the sentimental names she was pleased togive herself and her friends. She was Orinda: her friends werePalmon, Poliarchus, Philaster, Silvander, Polycrite, Valeria, Lucasia, Rosania. Friendship is prominently treated in nearly everything that she wrote. Her friendships with men, Jeremy Taylor, Francis Finch, Sir Charles Cotterel, and others, were as happy andunbroken as they were fervent and pure. Her long correspondence withCotterel was published under the title, "Letters from Orinda toPoliarchus. " When Finch had written his treatise on friendship, Mrs. Phillips addressed to him a poem, inscribed, "To the Noble Palmon, onhis Incomparable Discourse of Friendship:"

Temples and statues time will eat away;And tombs, like their inhabitants, decay:But here Palm non lives, and so he mustWhen marbles crumble to forgotten dust. 

There is also in her volume of poems, another one addressed to "Mr. Francis Finch, the Excellent Palmmon:"

'Twas he that rescued gasping friendship, when The bell tolled for her funeral with men:'Twas he that made friends more than lovers burn, And then made love to sacred friendship turn. 

Mrs. Phillips was less fortunate in the sequels to her friendshipswith persons of her own sex; though, while they lasted, they were, at least on her side, moreardent and entire. Her principal femalefriends were Regina Collier, whom she named Rosania, and Mrs. AnneOwen, designated, in all their communications, as Lucasia. Many ofher poems were written to these two idolized friends. Sheconcludes a most glowing celebration of her union with the former, thus:

A dew shall dwell upon our tomb, Of such a qualityThat fighting armies, thither come, Shall reconciled be. We'll ask no epitaph, but say, ORINDA and ROSANIA. 

The exaggerated pitch of sentiment in Orinda, the sensitive andabsorbing demands of her affection, and, perhaps, some lightness, oreven falsity, on the part of Rosania, led to a rupture. The indignantand unhappy Orinda expressed her sorrows in several heartfelt poems, one of which bears the superscription, "To the Queen of Inconstancy, Regina Collier:"

Unworthy, since thou hast decreedThy love and honor both shall bleed, My friendship could not choose to dieIn better time or company. 

Another is entitled, "On Rosania's Apostacy and Lucasia'sFriendship. " For the injured Orinda tried to find solace for the lossof an old, in the arms of a new, friend; or, rather, by transferringto one, in intensified unity, the love and attention she had beforedivided between two. She writes "To my Lucasia, in Defence ofDeclared Friendship, "

I did not live until this time Crowned my felicity, When I could say, without a crime, I am not thine but thee. 

And, again, in "Friendship's Mystery, To my dearest Lucasia, "

Our hearts are mutual victims laid, While they, such power in friendship lies, Are altars, priests, and offerings made;And each heart which thus kindly dies, Grows deathless by the sacrifice. 

For a good while this attachment kept its keen flavor, and was onlyheightened by sympathy in misfortunes and distress. Cowley celebratedit in the following lines:

The fame of friendship which so long had toldOf three or four illustrious names of old, Till hoarse and weary of the tale she grew, Rejoices now to have got a new, A new and more surprising story, Of fair Lucasia and Orinda's glory. 

Mr. Owen, Lucasia's husband, died. Mrs. Phillips went from a distanceto visit her bereaved friend, and they fell into each other's armswith copious tears. In a poem, Orinda describes this meeting underthe beautiful image of two sister rivulets, which, creeping fromtheir separate springs, in secret currents under ground, bursttogether at last, swollen by their own embraces to a flood. Lucasiamarries again, and becomes Lady Dungannon. This marriage, by the newscenes, ties, and pleasures it introduces, proves the undoing of poorOrinda's happiness. Lucasia cools towards her, allows her less spacein her heart than she craves; and finally we have a reluctantfarewell poem, bearing the ominous title, "Orinda to Lucasia. Parting, October, 1661, at London:

"Adieu, dear object of my love's excess, And with thee all my hopes of happiness. I to resign thy dear converse submit, Since I can neither keep nor merit it:I ask no inconvenient kindness now, To move thy passion or to cloud thy brow;And thou wilt satisfy my boldest pleaBy some few soft remembrances of me. 

The lines may remind one of the pathetic sentiment expressed almosttwo hundred years later by a kindred heart. Eugénie de Guérin says, "In the moment of union, the seed of separation is sown. Cruelillusion, the belief in friendships that are eternal. The knowledgeis bitter, but let me learn the lesson. " Yes: learn the lessonindeed, so far as it is true; but do not exaggerate it, nor let itcast too wide and dense a shadow over the rest of life. 

Elizabeth Rowe seems to have had a heart peculiarly alive to tenderattachments. And she was happy in winning and retaining many friends. Her superiors, her equals, her servants, all loved her as one of thebest of women. Her "Friendship in Death, in Twenty Letters from theDead to the Living, " enjoyed great celebrity in its day. Thebeautiful Countess Hertford was her enthusiastic friend. Sheexchanged many visits with her, again and again leaving her ownstately mansion to abide in the humble house of her admired friend;and she sacredly cherished her memory after death had parted them. Thomson, in the original form of his "Hymn to Solitude, " celebratedthese friends as "Philomela and the gentle-looking Hertford. " LadyHertford had so affectionate a heart, so rich a mind, so gracious amien, and was so tenacious in her fondnesses, that she captivated thesouls of many of her contemporaries. She was the patron of Thomson, who, in some exquisite lines, dedicated his "Spring" to her. Sherewarded the young Elizabeth Carter for a poem in honor of Mrs. Rowe, with her steadfast love and her correspondence. But her mostimportant friendship was that with the Countess of Pomfret. This ranthrough the largest part of her life, was a source of the greatestcomfort and edification to them both, and has left a monument of itsunwavering sincerity and fullness in the long series of theirpublished letters. 

Mrs. Montague's passion for friendships led her to form intimacieswith many of the most distinguished persons of her time, both men andwomen. When she was Elizabeth Robinson, at the age of twelve sheexchanged her doll for a living friend, in the person of LadyMargaret Harley, who became the celebrated Duchess of Portland. Thisintimacy was kept up to the end of their lives, by constant letters, visits, and other endearments. The admirable Mrs. Barbauld, HannahMore, and Elizabeth Carter, were also her cherished friends. She wasthe founder of the far-famed "Blue-Stocking Club. " Few friendships, it is certain, have ever existed between women more thoroughly soundand comforting than that of Hannah More and Mrs. Garrick. After thedeath of the great tragedian, Hannah spent a large part of her timewith his widow. Mrs. Garrick fondly called Miss More her chaplain. Asfriends of Elizabeth Carter, besides those already named, Pulteney, Earl of Bath, Mr. Montague, Dr. Johnson, Sir George Lyttleton, Archbishop Seeker, Miss Sutton, Mrs. Vesey, and, above all, MissCatherine Talbot, deserve to be especially Mentioned. Miss Carter andMiss Talbot corresponded regularly for thirty years, and sharedalmost every secret. Not a single misunderstanding occurred to marthe placidity of their solid confidence and good will. It is apleasure, even at this day, to look through their voluminous, ratherstiff and prosy, but entirely sensible and affectionatecorrespondence. 

There was an ardent friendship, of which the details have perished, between the once famous novelist and poet, Charlotte Smith, and thelovely, unhappy, romantic Henrietta, Lady O'Niel. 

Twelve times the moon, that rises redO'er yon tall wood of shadowy pine, Has filled her orb, since low was laid, My Harriet, that sweet form of thine!

No more thy friendship soothes to restThis wearied spirit, tempest-tossed:The cares that weigh upon my breastAre doubly felt since thou art lost. 

But, ere that wood of shadowy pineTwelve times shall yon full orb behold, This sickening heart, that bleeds for thine, My Harriet, may like thine be cold!

Anna Seward, considerably admired in her own generation, as a beautyand as a writer, though the great faults of her judgment and styleare fast bringing oblivion over her pages, was a devoted friend ofthat beautiful Honora Sneyd of whom Major Andre was the rejectedlover. It was a profound sympathy with both the parties whichprompted the composition of her once famous "Monody on Major Andre. "One is sorry to learn, that, on the marriage of Honora with Mr. Edgeworth, and her removal to Ireland, her friendship for Anna, asoften happens in such cases, died of a slow consumption. But, on theother side, the early affection never ceased to glow. Miss Sewardwrites to one of her lady friends, "When my attachment to Cornet sunkin the snow-drifts of his altered conduct, Honora Sneyd, educated inour family from five years old, was commencing woman, and only eightyears younger than myself; more lovely, more amiable, moreinteresting than any thing I ever saw in the female form. Death haddeprived me of my beloved and only sister, who had shared with me inthe delightful task of instructing our angelic pupil; and, whendisappointed love threw all the energies of my soul into the channelof friendship, Honora was its chief object. The charms of hersociety, when her advancing youth gave equality to our connection, made Lichfield an Edenic scene to me. Ah, how deeply was I a fellowsufferer with Major Andre on her marriage! We both lost her forever. "

The following verses, written by Anna to Honora, from the seaside, are pleasing in the picture they present and in the sentiment theyenshrine. The prophecy they make has also been fulfilled:

I write Honora on the sparkling sand!The envious waves forbid the trace to stay:Honora's name again adorns the strand, Again the waters bear their prize away!

So Nature wrote her charms upon thy face, The cheek's bright bloom, the lip's envermeilled dye, And every gay and every witching graceThat youth's warm hours and beauty's stores supply. 

But Time's stern tide, with cold Oblivion's wave, Shall soon dissolve each fair, each fading charm;E'en Nature's self, so powerful, cannot saveHer own rich gifts from this o'erwhelming harm. 

Love and the Muse can boast superior power;Indelible the letters they shall frame:They yield to no inevitable hour, But on enduring tablets write thy name. 

Romney, in his fancy-picture of Serena reading by candle-light, accidentally produced an accurate likeness of this lost friend ofMiss Seward's heart. "Drawing his abstract idea of perfectloveliness, the form and the face of Honora Sneyd rose beneath hispencil. " This beauteous resemblance Anna hung in her room, and madeher constant companion. "It contributes to endear, as the brightreality endeared, in times long past, this pleasant mansion to myaffections. Thus are those dear lineaments ever present to my sight, retouching the traits of memory, over which indistinctness is apt tosteal. " Again she says, "The luxury of mournful delight with which Icontinually gaze upon that form, is one of the most precious comfortsof my life. " Years after, in giving to Lady Eleanor Butler and MissPonsonby an account of a recent journey she had made, Miss Sewardwrites, "The stars glimmered in the lake of Weston, as we travelledby its side: but their light did not enable me to distinguish thechurch, beneath the floor of whose porch rests the mouldered form ofmy heart, dear Honora. Yet of our approach to that consecrated spotmy spirit felt all the mournful consciousness. " In her poem on thedeath of her intimate friend. Andre, Miss Seward had written, O Washington! I thought thee great and good, Nor knew thy Nero-thirst for guiltless blood, Severe to use the power that Fortune gave, Thou cool, determined Murderer of the Brave!

It is interesting to read in a letter, written by her long afterwardsto the Ladies of Llangollen, "A few years after peace was signedbetween this country and America, an officer introduced himself, commissioned by Washington to call upon me, and to assure me from thegeneral himself, that no circumstance of his life had been somortifying as to be censured in the "Monody on Andre" as the pitilessauthor of his ignominions fate; that he had labored to save him; thathe requested my attention to papers on the subject, which he had sentby this officer for my perusal. On examining them, I found theyentirely acquitted the general. They filled me with contrition forthe rash injustice of my censure. "

An extraordinary instance of feminine friendship, of the courage andsacrifice the affections will prompt in woman, was afforded in therelation of Anna Seward to the Countess of Northesk. The countess, afflicted by a malady which had baffled the most skilful physiciansin London, was drawn to Lichfield by the fame of Dr. Darwin. Shestaid for some time at his house, and awakened the deepest interestin his family and friends. Miss Seward was especially attracted byher engaging manners and disposition, as well as by sympathy for herperil, and for the distress of her husband and children. She wasunwearied in efforts to alleviate the sufferings and the weary hoursof the countess, whose fervent gratitude re-acted to enhance toenthusiasm the interest of the fair ministrant. One day, Dr. Darwinsuggested the possibility of effecting a cure of his patient bytransfusing into her veins a supply of vital blood, freshly takenfrom some healthy person. Anna, then in the full bloom of youth, instantly offered her own veins. The project was abandoned from wantof sufficiently delicate instruments. But the countess was deeplyaffected by the generous offer of her friend, and repaid it with themost affectionate attachment. She was restored to health; and, onreturning home, sent Miss Seward the gift of a set of jewels, intoken of her love. They continued to correspond with each other untilthe tragic death of the countess by the accidental burning of herdress. 

The most remarkable instance in history, perhaps, of a pair of femalefriends is the romantic example of the Ladies of Llangollen, whosestory, widely renowned two generations ago, is now obliterated frompopular knowledge, save in meagre literary allusions. 

A little after the middle of the eighteenth century, Lady EleanorButler and Miss Sarah Ponsonby, two young women of wealth and highstation, formed an extreme mutual attachment, and were possessed withan ardent desire to forsake the world, and devote their lives to eachother. Taking measures accordingly, they departed to an obscureretreat in the country. Their relatives frowned on this eccentricity, traced them out in their hiding-place, and, despite theirprotestations, separated them, and brought them back. But they sooneffected a second elopement, which proved a successful and permanentone. Confiding the place of their flight only to a single faithfulservant, they sacrificed, in the prime of their lives, the prizes andthe glare of the fashionable world, and settled down in a secret nookof beauty and peace. In the romantic Valley of Llangollen, in Wales, one of the sweetest and quietest spots on earth, they bought acharming cottage, fitted it up with every comfort, and adorned itwith exquisite taste. Here, in this remote and lovely haunt, amplyprovided with books, pictures, and other means of culture, givingthemselves up to the enjoyment of their own society, they livedtogether in uninterrupted contentment for nearly threescore years. For a long period, their neighbors, ignorant of their names, knewthem only as the "Ladies of the Vale. " For a quarter of a century, itis said, they never spent twenty-four hours at a time out of theirhappy valley. 

They seem never to have fallen out, never to have wearied of eachother, never to have repented of their repudiation of public life. Bybooks and correspondence, they kept up a close connection with thebrilliant world they had deserted. The romance of their action, penetrating far and wide, through cultivated circles, brought manydistinguished visitors to their hospitality, literary and titularcelebrities from all parts of Great Britain, likewise from thecontinent. Many of these became fast friends to them; and, in lettersto other persons, speak of their fine qualities of sentiment andtaste, their engaging traits of character and manners. Madame Geniiswrites rapturously of her tarry with them, the charms of theirresidence, and especially of the Aeolian harp, which she there heardfor the first time, amid the befitting associations of the mysticlegends and natural minstrelsy of Welsh landscape. Mrs. Tighe also, the winsome but unfortunate authoress of the "Loves of Psyche andCupid, " on departing from their cottage after a delighted stay, leftupon her table a beautiful sonnet addressed to them. 

But Miss Anna Seward; between whom and the pair of friends a warmaffection was cherished, has given the fullest description known tous of the home and habits of the Ladies of Llangollen. She thoughtthat the compliment Hayley paid to Miers, the miniature painter, "His magic pencil in its narrow spacePours the full portion of uninjured grace"

might be transferred to the talents and exertion which converted acottage in two acres and a half of turnip ground to a fairy palaceamid the bowers of Calypso. It consisted of four small apartments;the exquisite cleanliness of the kitchen, its utensils and auxiliaryoffices, vying with the finished elegance of the light-some littledining-room, as that contrasted with the gloomy grace of the libraryinto which it opened. This room was fitted up in the Gothic style, the door and large sash windows of that form--the latter of paintedglass, shedding a dim religious light. Candles were seldom admittedinto this apartment. The ingenious friends had invented a kind ofprismatic lantern, which occupied the whole elliptic arch of theGothic door. This lantern was of cut glass, variously colored, inclosing two lamps with their reflectors. The light it impartedresembled that of a volcano--sanguine and solemn. It was assisted bytwo glowworm lamps, that, in little marble reservoirs, stood on theopposite chimney-piece. These supplied the place of the daylight, when the dusk of evening sabled, or night wholly involved thesolitude. A large Aeolian harp was fixed in one of the windows; and, when the weather permitted them to be open, it breathed its deeptones to the gale, swelling and softening as that rose and fell. 

Ah me! what hand can touch the strings so fine?Who up the lofty diapason rollSuch sweet, such sad, such solemn airs divine, And let them down again into the soul?

This saloon of the two Minervas, Miss Seward says, contained thefinest editions, superbly bound, and arranged in neat wire cases, ofthe best authors in prose and verse, which the English, French, andItalian languages boast. Over them hung the portraits in miniature, and some in larger ovals, of the favored friends of these celebratedvotaries to the sentiment which exalted the characters of Theseus andPeirithous, of David and Jonathan. 

The wavy and shaded gravel-walk which encircled this elysium wasenriched with curious shrubs and flowers. It was nothing in extent, every thing in grace and beauty and in variety of foliage. In onepart of it you turned upon a small knoll, which overhung a deep, hollow glen. At the tangled bottom of this glen, a frothing brookleaped and clamored over the rough stones in its channel. A largespreading beech canopied the knoll, and beneath its boughs asemilunar seat admitted four persons. It had a fine effect to enterthe Gothic library at dusk, as Miss Seward says she first entered it. The prismatic lantern diffused a light gloomily glaring, assisted bythe paler flames of the little lamps on the chimney-piece. Throughthe open windows was shown a darkling view of the lawn, of theconcave shrubbery of tall cypresses, yews, laurels, and lilacs, ofthe wooded amphitheatre on the opposite hill, and of the gray, barrenmountain which forms the background. The evening star had risen abovethe mountain; and the airy harp rang loudly to the breeze, completingthe magic of the scene. 

And what of the enchantresses themselves, beneath whose wand thesegraces arose? Lady Eleanor was of middle height, and somewhat over-plump, her face round and fair, with the glow of luxuriant health. She had not fine features, but they were agreeable, enthusiasm in hereye, hilarity and benevolence in her smile. She had uncommon strengthand fidelity of memory, an exhaustless fund of knowledge, and hertaste for works of imagination, particularly for poetry, was veryawakened; and she expressed all she felt with an ingenuous ardor, atwhich cold-spirited beings stared. Both the ladies read and spokemost of the modern languages, and were warm admirers of the Italianpoets, especially of Dante. Miss Ponsonby, somewhat taller than herfriend, was neither slender nor otherwise, but very graceful. Easy, elegant, yet pensive, was her address; her voice, kind and low. Aface rather long than round, a complexion clear, but without bloom, with a countenance whose soft melancholy lent it peculiar interest. If her features were not beautiful, they were very attractive andfeminine. Though the pensive spirit within permitted not her dimplesto make her smile mirthful, they increased its sweetness, and, consequently, her power of engaging the affections. We could see, through the veil of shading reserve, that all the talents andaccomplishments which enriched the mind of Lady Eleanor, existed withequal power in her charming friend. Such are the portraits drawn byMiss Seward, of the two extraordinary women, who, in the bosom oftheir deep retirement, were sought by the first characters of theage, both as to rank and talents. To preserve that retirement fromtoo frequent invasion, they were obliged to be somewhat coy ofapproach. Yet they were generous in a select hospitality; and when, toward the end of their lives, they welcomed a coming guest, MissMartineau says it was a singular sight to see these ancient ladies, in their riding habits, with their rolled and powdered hair, theirbeaver hats, and their notions and manners of the last century. 

When we consider their intellectual resources, their energy andindustry, their interludes of company and correspondence, we need notbe surprised at the assertion they made to one of their most intimatevisitors, that neither the long summer's day, nor winter's night, norweeks of imprisoning snows, had ever inspired one weary sensation, one wish of returning to the world they had abandoned. 

Anna Seward had so interested Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby in thecharacter of her dear friend, Honora Sneyd, by the sonnet addressedto her, which she showed them, by impassioned descriptions of herloveliness, as well as by the celebrated poem on the fate of MajorAndre, that the two ladies were desirous of possessing a portrait ofthe deceased beauty. 

With great pains, Anna succeeded in obtaining for them a copy of whatwas a perfect image of her, Romney's ideal picture of Serena in the"Triumphs of Temper. " Writing on it, "Such was Honora Sneyd, " she hadit framed and glazed, and sent it as a gift to the Ladies ofLlangollen. They received it with delight, and hung it in a prominentposition, where the fair giver afterward had the pleasure of gazingon it with romantic emotion. 

Miss Seward paid several happy tributes in verse to her admiredfriends. One of these, written at the close of a prolonged visit, began thus:

Oh, Cambrian Tempe! Oft with transport hailed, I leave thee now, as I did ever leaveThee and thy peerless mistresses, with heartWhere lively gratitude and fond regret For mastery strive. 

She also published, in a little volume by itself, an enthusiasticpoem in praise of the Cambrian Arden, Llangollen Valley, adorned withan engraving of the landscape as seen from the home of its Rosalindand Celia. They fully appreciated her affection, and returned it. They sent her the gift of a jewel consisting of the head and lyre ofApollo, making a ring and seal in one. In acknowledgment of this, thepleased and grateful poet wrote, "I have to thank you, dearestladies, for a beautiful but too costly present. It is a fine gem initself, and a rich and elegant circlet for the finger. "

When Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby left their splendid familyresidences in Ireland to seek in Wales a retirement where they mightspend their days in the culture of letters and friendship, a faithfuland affectionate servant who pined for them, after a few months oftheir absence, set out to search for them in England. She had no clewto direct her pursuit; since, to avoid solicitations to return, theyhad kept their place of abode secret even from their nearestrelatives. Learning, however, of her attempt, they sent for her. Shewent, and was their fond servitor until her death, thirty yearsafterward. Miss Seward once writes to Lady Eleanor, "I was concernedto hear that you had lately been distressed by the illness andalarmed for the life of your good Euryclea. That she is recovering, Irejoice. The loss of a domestic, faithful and affectionate asOrlando's Adam, must have cast more than a transient gloom over theCambrian Arden: the Rosalind and Celia of real life give LlangollenValley a right to that title. " When this endeared servant died, hermourning mistresses buried her in the grave which they had preparedfor themselves, and inscribed above her a cordial tribute in verse. 

Drawn by the pleasing sentiment that invests the story of theseladies, the writer, being then in England, made a pilgrimage fromLondon to Llangollen in the early autumn of 1865. 

It was Saturday afternoon when I arrived at the little Welsh inn. Thenext morning I found my way to the classic cottage. The fingers ofTime had indeed been busy on it. The vestiges of its former glorywere still apparent, but the ornaments were crumbled and dim. Theprismatic lantern over the door was a mixture of garishness and dust. The bowers were broken, the vines and plants dead, the walks draggledand uneven, the gates rickety, the fences tottering or prostrate. Thenumerous tokens of art and care in the past made the presentruinousness and desolation more pathetic. I could not help recallingthe final couplet of Miss Seward's poem, prophesying the fame of thisplace:

While all who honor virtue gently mourn Llangollen's vanished Pair, and wreathe their sacred urn. 

Threading the briery dell, and following the brook that prattled downthe steep slope, I climbed the hill which directly overhangs thehamlet. It was church-time as I sat down on the top, and slowly drankin the charms of that celebrated landscape. To such a scene, at suchan hour, the very heart-strings grow. The fields were clothed with adense velvety-green. Across the narrow glen, on the strange cone ofDinas Bran, frowned threateningly, in dark mass, unsoftened bydistance, the huge, bare fragments of an old castle, the immemorialtype of an iron age when the hearts of men were iron. Beneath myfeet, the vapors of the morning floated here and there in thesunshine, like torn folds of a satin gauze. A hundred smokes curledfrom the village chimneys, and the tones of the sabbath bells werewafted up to me with no mixture of profane toils. The very cattleseemed to know the holy day, and to browse and gaze, or ruminate andlook around, with an unusual assurance of repose and satisfaction. But the spell must be broken, however reluctantly. 

Descending into the village, just as the religious service was ended, I went into the churchyard, and copied from the triangular tomb inwhich the Ladies of Llangollen sleep, with their favorite servant, amid the magical loveliness of the pastoral scenery, these threeinscriptions. On the first side:

IN MEMORY OF MRS. MARY CARRYL, Deceased 22 November, 1809, This Monument is erected by Eleanor ButlerAnd Sarah Ponsonby, of Plas Newydd, in this Parish. 

Released from earth and all its transient woes, She, whose remains beneath this stone repose, Steadfast in faith resigned her parting breath, Looked up with Christian joy, and smiled in death. Patient, industrious, faithful, generous, kind, Her conduct left the proudest far behind. Her virtues dignified her humble birth, And raised her mind above this sordid earth. Attachment (sacred bond of grateful breasts)Extinguished but with life, this tomb attests;Reared by two friends who will her loss bemoan, Till with her ashes here shall rest their own. 

On the second side:

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OFThe Right HonorableLADY ELEANOR CHARLOTTE BUTLER, Late of Plas Newydd, in this parish, Deceased 2d June, 1829, Aged Ninety Years, Daughter of the Sixteenth, Sister of the SeventeenthEarls of Ormonde and Ossory, Aunt to the late and to the presentMarquess of Ormonde. 

Endeared to her many friends by an almostUnequalled excellence of heart, and by mannersWorthy of her illustrious birth, the admirationAnd delight of a very numerous acquaintance, From a brilliant vivacity of mind, undiminishedTo the latest period of a prolonged existence. Her amiable condescension and benevolenceSecured the grateful attachment of thoseBy whom they had been so long and soExtensively experienced: her various perfections, Crowned by the most pious and cheerfulSubmission to the Divine Will, can only beAppreciated where, it is humbly believed, they areNow enjoying their eternal reward; and by her. Of whom for more than fifty years they constitutedThat happiness which, through our blessed Redeemer, She trusts will be renewed when this TombShall have closed over its Latest Tenant. 

On the third side:

SARAH PONSONBYdeparted this lifeOn the 9th of December, 1831, aged 76. 

She did not long survive her beloved companion, Lady Eleanor Butler, with whom she had lived in thisValley for more than half a century of uninterrupted friendshipBut they shall no more return to their house, neitherShall their place know them any more. 

In that sequestered valley, how quietly, with what blessed joy andpeace, their lives kept the even tenor of their way Standingbeside their grave, in the shadow of the old church, while thelittle Welsh river ran whispering by, and thinking how the eyesand hearts in which so long and happy a love had burned, were nowfallen to atoms, and literally mixed in the dust below, as oncethey morally mixed in life above, I felt, What a pity that thosethus blessed cannot live forever! Then I thought, No, it is betteras it is. They were happy. They drained the best cup existence canoffer. When the world was becoming an infirmary, and the song ofthe grasshopper a burden, it was meet that they should sleep. Those only are to be pitied who die without the experience ofaffection. 

This attempt to revive the story and brighten the urn of the Ladiesof Llangollen may suggest that friendship lies within the province ofwomen as much as within the province of men; that there are pairs offeminine friends as worthy of fame as any of the masculine couplesset by classic literature in the empyrean of humanity; that uncommonlove clothes the lives of its subjects with the interest of unfadingromance; that the true dignity, happiness, and peace of women and ofmen, too--are to be found rather in the quiet region of personalculture, and the affections, than in the arena of ambitiouspublicity. Mrs. Thrale and Fanny Burney were every thing to eachother for a long time. But, on the marriage of the former with Mr. Piozzi, a breach occurred, which was never repaired. Four years afterthis coldness, Fanny writes in her diary, "Oh, little does she knowhow tenderly, at this moment, I could run into her arms, so oftenopened to receive me with a cordiality I believed inalienable. " Twoyears after that, Mrs. Piozzi writes in her diary, "I met Miss Burneyat an assembly last night. She appeared most fondly rejoiced in goodtime I answered with ease and coldness, but in exceeding good humor;and all ended, as it should do, with perfect indifference. " Thirty-one years later still, Fanny enters in her diary this brief record:"I have just lost my once most dear, intimate, and admired friend, Mrs. Thrale Piozzi. "

The young Bettine Brentano, several years before her acquaintancewith Goethe, was placed temporarily in the house of a femalereligious order to pursue her studies. There she soon made theacquaintance of a canoness named Günderode, considerably older thanherself, though still young, with rare mental endowments and romanticaffections. The cultivated intellect, spirituality, and mysticmelancholy of Günderode, under her singularly attractive features andcalm demeanor, drew the impassioned and redundant Bettine to her byan irresistible bond. Their companionship ripened into romanticfriendship. Their letters, collected and published by the survivor, compose one of the most original and stimulative delineations of theinner life of girlhood to be met with in literature. To cold andshallow readers, this correspondence will prove an unknown tongue;but those who can appreciate the reflection of wonderfulpersonalities, and the workings of intense sentiment, will prize itas a unique treasure. 

Bettine was electrical, magical, seeming ever to be overcharged withthe spirit of nature; Günderode, cloudy, opalescent, suggesting aspirit native of some realm above nature. The interplaying of the twowas strangely delightful to them both; and they made day after dayrich by hoarding and sharing what life brought, the wealth of theirsouls. The fresh vitality of Bettine, her rushing inspiration, herdithyrambic love of wild nature, breathed a balsamic breath over herdrooping friend, who yet had a more than counterbalancing depth ofconsciousness to impart in return. 

Günderode, keyed too high for common companionship, too deep andtenacious in her moods, of a delicacy preternaturally lofty and far-reaching in its sensitiveness, was solitary, sad, thoughtful, yearning, prescient of an early death; yet, by the whole impressionof her being, she gave birth, in those who lovingly looked on her, tothe surmise that she was mysteriously self-sufficing and happy. Bettine writes to her, "I begin to believe thy feelings are enthronedbeyond clouds which cast their shadows on the earth; while thou, borne on them, art revelling in celestial light. " The best way toindicate briefly what this friendship was, will be to quote aselection of the characteristic expressions of it, though such acompilation of fragments does great wrong to a correspondence socompacted of the sparks of love and genius. Let those who find inthis relation only the expression of a fantastic sentimentality, weigh what Sarah Austin says, a woman who speaks with the utmostweight of authority which learning, experience, and wisdom can give:"We, in England and France, " Mrs. Austin says, "have no measure forthe character of a German girl, brought up in comparative solitude, nurtured on poetry and religion, knowing little of the actual world, but holding close converse with the ideal in its grandest forms. Sheis capable of an enthusiasm we know not of. "

At different times, Günderode writes thus: "I have bad many thoughtsof thee, dear Bettine. Some nights ago I dreamed thou wast dead: Iwept bitterly at it; and the dream left, for a whole day, a mournfulecho in my heart. " "My mood is often very sad, and I have not powerover it. " "Thou art my bit of a sun that warms me, while everywhereelse frost falls on me. " "Thy letter, dear Bettine, I have sipped aswine from the goblet of Lyus. " "I am studying the distinguishedSpartan women. If I cannot be heroic, and am always ill fromhesitation and timidity, I will at least fill my soul with thatheroism, and feed it with that vital power, in which I am so sadlydeficient. " "Thou seemest to me the clay which a god is moulding withhis feet; and what I perceive in thee is the fermenting fire, that, by his transcendent contact, he is strongly kneading into thee. ""When I read what I have written some time ago, I think I see myselflying in my coffin, staring at my other self in astonishment. "

"Clemens's letters make me think and consider, while over thine Ionly feel; and they are grateful as a breath of air from the HolyLand. " "If two are to understand each other, it requires theinspiring influence of a third divine one. And so I accept our mutualexistence as a gift of the gods, in which they themselves play thehappiest part. "

And thus, on the other side, Bettine at various times writes toGünderode: "I wrote down, To-day I saw Günderode: it was a gift ofGod. To-day, as I read it again, I would gladly do every thing forthe love of thee. How much do I think of thee and of thy words, ofthe black lashes that shaded thy blue eyes as I saw thee for thefirst time; of thy kindly mien, and thy hand that stroked my hair!""Thy letter today has drawn a charmed ring around me. " "On the castleof the hill, in the night-dew, it was fair to be with thee. Thosewere the dearest hours of all my life; and, when I return, we willagain dwell together there. We will have our beds close together, andtalk all night. " "Thou and I think in harmony: we have as yet foundno third who can think with us, or to whom we have confided what wethink. " "Thou art the sweet cadence by which my soul is rocked. ""What will become of me, if ever I pass out of the light which beamson me from thine eyes? for thou seemest to me an ever-living look, and as if on that my life hung. " "I feel a deep longing to be withthee again; for, beautiful as it is here on the Rhine, it is sad tobe without an echo in a living breast. Man is nothing but the desireto feel himself in another. " "When I dare look up to thee from mychildish pursuits, I think I see a bride whose priestly robes do notbetray, nor her face express, whether she is sad or joyous in herecstasy. " "Thou lookest deeper into my breast, knowest more of myspiritual fate, than I, because I need only read in thy soul to findmyself. " "I would possess every thing, wealth and power of beautifulideas, art and science, only to give it to thee, to gratify my loveto thee, and my pride in thy love. " "Formerly, I often thought, Whywas I born? but, after thou wert with me, I never asked again. " "Isee thee wandering past the grove where I am at home, just as asparrow, concealed by dense foliage, watches a solitary swan swimmingon the quiet waters, and, hidden, sees how it bends its neck to dipinto the flood, drawing circles around it; sacred signs of itsisolation from the impure, the reckless, the unspiritual!" "I havebeen made happy to-day: some one secretly placed in my room a rose-tree with twenty-seven buds; these are just thy years. "

Many plaintive presentiments of unknown woe, parting, death, gave amysterious undertone of sadness to much of the correspondence ofthese two friends. The forebodings were destined to be more thanfulfilled in the tragic reality. Poor Günderode, wrought to madnessby a disappointment in love, committed suicide. She drowned herselfin a river, where her body was found entangled in the long sedge. Years afterwards, Bettine relates the story in a letter to Goethe, the perusal of which has made many a gentle heart ache. The substanceof the tragedy may be briefly told:

"One day, " Bettine writes, "Günderode met me with a joyful air, andsaid, "Yesterday I spoke with a surgeon, who told me it was very easyto make away with one's self. She hastily opened her gown, andpointed to the spot beneath her beautiful breast. Her eyes sparkledwith delight. I gazed at her, and felt uneasy. And what shall I dowhen thou art dead?' I asked. Oh! ere then, ' said she, thou wilt notcare for me any more; we shall not remain so intimate till then: Iwill first quarrel with thee. ' I turned to the window to hide mytears and my anger. She had gone to the other window, and was silent. I glanced secretly at her: her eye was lifted to heaven; but its raywas broken, as though its whole fire were turned within. After I hadobserved her awhile, I could no longer control myself: I broke intoloud crying, I fell on her neck, I dragged her down to a seat, andsat upon her knee, and wept, and kissed her on her mouth, and toreopen her dress, and kissed her on the spot where she had learned toreach the heart. I implored her, with tears of anguish, to have mercyupon me; and fell again on her neck, and kissed her cold andtrembling hands. Her lips were convulsed; and she was quite cold, stiff, and deadly pale. Speaking with difficulty, she said slowly, Bettine, do not break my heart. ' I wanted to recover myself, and notgive her pain. But as, amidst my smiles and tears and sobs, she grewmore anxious, and laid herself on the sofa, I jestingly tried to makeher believe I had taken all as a joke. 

"A few days after, she showed me a dagger with a silver hilt, whichshe had bought at the mart. She was delighted with the beauty andsharpness of the steel. I took the blade, and pressed on her with it, exclaiming, Rather than suffer thee to kill thyself, I myself will doit. ' She retreated in alarm, and I flung the dagger away. I took herby the hand, and led her to the garden, into the vine-bower, andsaid, Thou mayest depend on me: there is no hour when, if thou wertto utter a wish, I would hesitate for a moment. Come to my window atmidnight and whistle, and I will, without preparation, go round theworld with thee. What right hast thou to cast me off? How canst thoubetray such devotion? Promise me now. ' She hung her head and waspale. 'Günderode, ' said I, if thou art in earnest, give me a sign. She nodded. 

"Two months passed away, when I again came to Frankfort. I ran to thechapter-house of the canonesses, opened the gate, and lo! there shestood, and looked coldly at me. 'Günderode, ' I cried, may I come in?'She was silent, and turned away. 'Günderode, say but one word, and myheart beats against thine. ' 'No, ' she said, 'come no nearer, turnback, we must separate. ' 'What does this mean?' I asked. 'Thus much, that we have been deceived, and do not belong to one another. ' Ah! Iturned away. First despair; first cruel blow, so dreadful to a youngheart! I, who knew nothing but entire abandonment to my love, must bethus rejected. "

A short period elapsed, when news was brought to Bettine that a youngand beautiful lady, who was seen walking a long time at eveningbeside the Rhine, had been found the next morning, on the bank, amongthe willows. She had filled her handkerchief with stones, and tied itabout her neck, probably intending to sink in the river; but, as shestabbed herself to the heart, she fell backward; and they found herthus lying under the willows by the Rhine, in a spot where the waterwas deepest. It was the poor, unhappy Günderode. 

The next day, Bettine, who was then with her brother and a smallparty of friends, sailing on the Rhine, landed at Rudesheim. "Thestory was in every one's mouth. I ran past all with the speed ofwind, and up to the summit of Mount Ostein, a mile in height, withoutstopping. When I had come to the top, I had far outstripped the rest;my breath was gone, and my head burned. There lay the splendid Rhine, with his emerald island gems. I saw the streams descending to himfrom every side, the rich, peaceful towns on both banks, and theslopes of vines on either side. I asked myself if time would not wearout my loss. And then I resolved to raise myself above grief; for itseemed to me unworthy to utter sorrow which the future would enableme to subdue. "

The dithyrambic exuberances in this relation, the romanticextravagances of sentiment, illustrate both the strength and theweakness of a genius bordering close on disease. They show how muchsuch a genius needs to apply to itself the balancing and rectifyingcriticisms of a sober wisdom. They may also contribute something toawaken and enrich more cold and sluggish natures, which are yetaspiring and docile. 

Lucy Aikin has left record of the warm and faithful friendships withwhich she was blessed by some of the most gifted and amiable women ofher time. She was a person of strong character, of highly cultivatedtalents, and quite remarkable for her powers of conversation, anaccomplishment which seems hastening to join the lost arts. Theparties which modern fashion gathers, are not so much groups offriends, drawn together for rational and affectionate communion, asthey are jabbering herds, among whom all individuality and docileearnestness are lost in the general buzz and clack of simultaneousspeech. 

One of these friends was Miss Benger, an estimable literary lady, whohad considerable celebrity a quarter of a century ago. Miss Aikin haswritten a brief memoir of her. The following extract sufficientlyshows the cordiality and comfort of their union: "To those who knewand enjoyed the friendship of Miss Benger, her writings, pleasing andbeautiful as they are, were the smallest part of her merit and herattraction. Endowed with the warmest and most grateful of humanhearts, she united to the utmost delicacy and nobleness of sentiment, active benevolence, which knew no limit but the furthest extent ofher ability, and a boundless enthusiasm for the good and fair, wherever she discovered them. Her lively imagination, and the flow ofeloquence which it inspired, aided by one of the most melodious ofvoices, lent an inexpressible charm to her conversation; which washeightened by an intuitive discernment of character, rare in itself, and still more so in combination with such fertility of fancy andardency of feeling. As a companion, whether for the graver or thegayer hour, she had, indeed, few equals; and her constantforgetfullness of self, and unfailing sympathy for others, renderedher the general friend, favorite, and confidante of persons of bothsexes, all classes, and all ages. Many would have concurred injudgment with Madame de Staël, when she pronounced Miss Benger themost interesting woman she had seen during her visit to England. Ofenvy and jealousy there was not a trace in her composition; herprobity, veracity, and honor were perfect. Though as free from prideas from vanity, her sense of independence was such, that no one couldfix upon her the slightest obligation capable of lowering her in anyeyes. She had a generous propensity to seek those most, who neededher offices of friendship. No one was more scrupulously just to thecharacters and performances of others, no one more candid, no onemore deserving of every kind of reliance. It is gratifying to reflectto how many hearts her unassisted merit found its way. Few personshave been more widely or deeply deplored in their sphere ofacquaintance; but even those who loved her best could not but confessthat their regrets were purely selfish. To her the pains ofsensibility seemed to be dealt in even fuller measure than its joys:her childhood and early youth were consumed in a solitude of mind, and under a sense of contrariety between her genius and her fate, which had rendered them sad and full of bitterness; her maturer yearswere tried by cares, privations, and disappointments, and not seldomby unfeeling slights or thankless neglect. The irritability of herconstitution, aggravated by inquietude of mind, had rendered her lifeone long disease. Old age, which she neither wished nor expected toattain, might have found her solitary and ill-provided: now she hastaken the wings of the dove to flee away and be at rest. "

Miss Aikin also held a constant intercourse, through a large part ofher life, with Joanna Baillie, whom she always regarded with profoundhonor and love. She had a personal acquaintance with almost everyliterary woman of celebrity in England, from the last decade of theeighteenth, to the middle of the nineteenth, century. And of allthese, with the sole exception of Mrs. Barbauld, she says, JoannaBaillie made by far the deepest impression on her. "Her genius, "writes this admiring friend, "was surpassing; her character, the mostendearing and exalted. " No one had suspected the great genius ofJoanna Baillie, so thick a veil of modest reserve had covered it. Soon after the publication of her "Plays on the Passions, " Miss Aikinsays, "She and her sister I well remember the scene arrived on amorning call at Mrs. Barbauld's. My aunt immediately introduced thetopic of the anonymous tragedies, and gave utterance to heradmiration with that generous delight in the manifestation of kindredgenius which distinguished her. But not even the sudden delight ofsuch praise, so given, could seduce our Scottish damsel into self-betrayal. The faithful sister rushed forward to bear the brunt, whilethe unsuspected author lay snug in the asylum of her taciturnity. Shehad been taught to repress all emotions, even the gentlest. Hersister once told me that their father was an excellent parent; whenshe had once been bitten by a dog thought to be mad, he had suckedthe wound, at the hazard, as was supposed, of his own life; but thathe had never given her a kiss. Joanna spoke to me once of heryearning to be caressed, when a child. She would sometimes venture toclasp her little arms about her mother's knees, who would seem tochide her; but I know she liked it. Be that as it may, the firstthing which drew upon Joanna the admiring notice of society was thedevoted assiduity of her attention to her mother, then blind as wellas aged, whom she waited on day and night. 

"An innocent and maiden grace still hovered over Miss Baillie to theend of her old age. It was one of her peculiar charms, and oftenbrought to my mind the line addressed to the vowed Isabella, inMeasure for Measure: I hold you for a thing enskyed and saintly. Ifthere were ever human creature pure in the last recesses of the soul, it was surely this meek, this pious, this noble-minded, and nobly-giftedwoman, who, after attaining her ninetieth year, carried with her to thegrave the love, the reverence, the regrets, of all who had ever enjoyedthe privilege of her society. " The graves of these friends are side byside in the old churchyard at Hampstead. 

The exquisite delicacy and wealth of Mrs. Hemans's nature, herwinning beauty, modesty, and sweetness, drew a circle of dear friendsaround her wherever she tarried. In her poems and letters andmemoirs, they numerously appear, in becoming lights, men and women, lofty and lowly in rank, from Wordsworth and Scott, to whom she paidvisits, giving and receiving the choicest delight, to her owndependants, who worshipped her. She tells one of her correspondents, "I wish I could give you the least idea of what kindness is to me, how much more, how far dearer, than fame. " The most interesting ofher many prized friendships is that which she formed with MissJewsbury, who, having long admired her with the whole ardor of herpowerful nature, passed a summer in Wales, near Mrs. Hemans, for theexpress purpose of making her acquaintance. The enthusiasticadmiration on one side, the grateful appreciation of it on the other, the spiritual purity and earnestness and high literary and personalaspirations on both sides, quickly produced an attachment betweenthese two gifted women, which yielded them full measures ofencouragement, comfort, and bliss. They had just those resemblancesand those contrasts of person and mind, together with community ofmoral aims, which made them delightfully stimulative to each other. Miss Jewsbury dedicated to her friend her "Lays of Leisure Hours, "addressed her in the poem "To an Absent One, " and described her inthe first of the "Poetical Portraits" contained in the same book. Also, in her "Three Histories, " Mrs. Hemans is the original ofEgeria. "Egeria was totally different from any other woman I had everseen, either in Italy or England. She did not dazzle, she subdued, me. I never saw another woman so exquisitely feminine. Her movementswere features. Her strength and her weakness alike lay in heraffections. Her gladness was like a burst of sunlight; and if, in herdepression, she resembled night, it was night wearing her stars. Shewas a muse, a grace, a variable child, a dependent woman, the Italyof human beings. " Miss Jewsbury married, and went to India, where shesoon died. Mrs. Hemans paid a heartfelt tribute to her memory, in thecourse of which she says, "There was a strong chain of interestbetween us, that spell of mind on mind, which, once formed, can neverbe broken. I felt, too, that my whole nature was understood andappreciated by her; and this is a sort of happiness which I considerthe most rare in earthly affection. "

Mary Mitford and Mrs. Browning were blessed with a friendshipenviably full and satisfying. It has recorded itself in acorrespondence, which, if published, would add fresh honor to themboth in the hearts of their admirers. It was likewise celebrated withhappy heartiness by Miss Barrett, in her maiden days, in her finepoem, "To Flush, my Dog;" the dog, Flush, being a valued gift fromMiss Mitford. 

Margaret Fuller, after seeing an engraving of Madame Récamier, writesin her journal, "I have so often thought over the intimacy between her and Madame deStaël. It is so true, that a woman may be in love with a woman, and aman with a man. I like to be sure of it; for it is the same lovewhich angels feel, where Sie fragen nicht nach Mann und Weib. "

Of the friendships of women, perhaps none is more historic than this. A large selection from the correspondence was published, in 1862, byMadame Lenormant, in connection with a volume called "Madame de Staëland the Grand Duchess Louise. " It is impossible to read theseletters, without being struck by the rare grace that reigned in theunion of which they are the witnesses, and being affected by thesight of a friendship so faithful, a confidence so entire. 

The first meeting of these celebrated women took place when Madame deStaël was thirty-two years old; Madame Récamier, twenty-one. Amongthe few existing papers from the pen of the latter is a descriptionof this interview:

"She came to speak with me for her father, about the purchase of ahouse. Her toilet was odd. She wore a morning gown, and a littledress bonnet, adorned with flowers. I took her for a stranger inParis. I was struck with the beauty of her eyes and her look. Shesaid, with a vivid and impressive grace, that she was delighted toknow me; that her father, M. Necker at these words I recognizedMadame de Staël. I heard not the rest of her sentence. I blushed, myembarrassment was extreme. I had just come from reading her 'Letterson Rousseau, ' and was full of the excitement. I expressed what I feltmore by my looks than by my words. She at the same time awed and drewme. She fixed her wonderful eyes on me, with a curiosity full ofkindness, and complimented me on my figure, in terms which would haveseemed exaggerated and too direct if they had not been marked by anobvious sincerity, which made the praise very seductive. Sheperceived my embarrassment, and expresssd a desire to see me often, on her return to Paris; for she was going to Coppet. It was then amere apparition in my life; but the impression was intense. I thoughtonly of Madame de Staël, so strongly did I return the action of thisardent and forceful nature. "

Madame de Staël was a plain, energetic embodiment of the mostimpassioned genius. Madame Récamier was a dazzling personification ofphysical loveliness, united with the perfection of mental harmony. She had an enthusiastic admiration for her friend, who, in return, found an unspeakable luxury in her society. Her angelic candor ofsoul, and the frosty purity which enveloped her as a shield, inspiredthe tenderest respect; while her happy equipoise calmed and refreshedthe restless and expensive imagination of the renowned author. Therecould be no rivalry between them. Both had lofty and thoroughlysincere characters. They were partly the reflection, partly thecomplement, of each other; and their relation was a blessed one, charming and memorable among such records. "Are you not happy, "writes Madame de Staël, "in your magical power of inspiringaffection? To be sure always of being loved by those you love, seemsto me the highest terrestrial happiness, the greatest conceivableprivilege. " Again, acknowledging the gift from her friend of abracelet containing her portrait, she says, "It has thisinconvenience: I find myself kissing it too often. " In 1800, MadameRécamier had a brilliant social triumph in England: "Ah, well, beautiful Juliette! do you miss us? Have your successes in Londonmade you forget your friends in Paris?" Madame Récamier was theoriginal of the picture of the shawl-dance in "Corinne;" and herfriend says of her, in the "Ten Years of Exile, " that "her beautyexpressed her character. " The following passages, taken from letterswritten in 1804, show how the intimacy had deepened:

"For four clays, faithless beauty, I have not heard the noise of thewind without thinking it was your carriage. Come quickly. My mind andmy heart have need of you more than of any other friend. " "I havejust seen Madame Henri Belmont. People say that all beautiful personsremind them of you. It is not so with me. I have never found any onewho looks like you; and the eyes of this Madame Henri seem to meblind by the side of yours. " "Dear and beautiful Juliette, they giveme the hope of seeing you when I return from Italy; then only shall Ino longer feel myself an exile. I will receive you in the chateauwhere I lost what of all the world I most loved; and you will bringthe feeling of happiness which no more exists there. I love you morethan any other woman in France. Alas! when shall I see you again?"

The friends passed the autumn of 1807 together at Coppet, withMatthieu de Montmorency, Benjamin Constant, and a brilliant group ofassociates, amidst all the romance in which the scenery andatmosphere of that enchanted spot are steeped. One day they made aparty for an excursion on Mont Blanc. Weary, scorched by the sun, DeStaël and Récamier protested that they would go no farther. In vainthe guide boasted, both in French and German, of the spectaclepresented by the Mer de Glace. "Should you persuade me in all thelanguages of Europe, " replied Madame de Staël, "I would not goanother step. " During the long and cruel banishment inflicted byNapoleon on this eloquent woman, the bold champion of liberty, herfriend often paid her visits, and constantly wrote her letters:

"Dear Juliette, your letters are at present the only interest of mylife. " "How much, dear friend, I am touched by your precious letter, in which you so kindly send me all the news! My household rush fromone room to another, crying, A letter from Madame Récamier!' and thenall assemble to hear her" "Every one speaks of my beautiful friendwith admiration. . You have an ethereal reputation which nothingvulgar can approach. " "Adieu, dear angel. My God, how I envy allthose who are near you!"

When an envious slanderer had greatly vexed and grieved MadameRécamier, Madame de Staël wrote to her, "You are as famous in yourkind as I am in mine, and are not banished from France. I tell youthere is nothing to be feared but truth and material persecution. Beyond these two things, enemies can do absolutely nothing; and yourenemy is but a contemptible woman, jealous of your beauty andpurity. " "Write to me. I know you address me by your deeds; but Istill need your words. "

In 1811, Madame de Staël resolved to flee to Sweden. Montmorency, paying her a parting visit, received from Napoleon a decree ofinstant exile. Madame Récamier determined, at any risk, to embraceher friend before this great distance should separate them. Thegenerous fugitive wrote, imploring her not to come: "I am tornbetween the desire of seeing you, and the fear of injuring you. " Nodissuasion could avail; but no sooner did she arrive at Coppet thanthe mean soul of Napoleon sought revenge by exiling her also. Thedistress of Madame de Staël knew no bounds. On learning the fatalnews, she wrote, "I cannot speak to you; I fling myself at your feet; I implore younot to hate me. " "What your noble generosity has cost you! If youcould read my soul, you would pity me. " "The only service I can do myfriends is to make them avoid me. In all my distraction, I adore you. Farewell, farewell! When shall I see you again? Never in this world. "

Throughout the period of their banishment, the friends kept up anincessant correspondence, and often interchanged presents. 

"Dear friend, " writes Madame de Staël, "how this dress has touchedme! I shall wear it on Tuesday, in taking leave of the court. I shalltell everybody that it is a gift from you, and shall make all the mensigh that it is not you who are wearing it. "

In return, some time later, she sends a pair of bracelets, and a copyof a new work from her pen, adding, "In your prayers, dear angel, askGod to give peace to my soul. " In another letter she says, "Adieu, dear angel: promise to preserve that friendship which has given mesuch sweet days. " And again, "Angel of goodness, would that my eternal tenderness could recompenseyou a little for the penalties your generous friendship has broughton you!" "You cannot form an idea, my angel, of the emotion yourletter has caused me. It is at the extremity of Moravia that thesecelestial words have reached me. I have shed tears of sorrow andtenderness in hearkening to the voice which comes to me in thedesert, as the angel came to Hagar. "

What a rare and high compliment is contained in the followingpassage! "You are the most amiable person in the world, dearJuliette; but you do not speak enough of yourself. You put your mind, your enchantment, in your letters, but not that which concernsyourself. Give me all the details pertaining to yourself. " "Thehundred fine things Madame de Boigne and Madame de Belle-garde say ofyou and me, prove to me that I live a double life: one in you, one inmyself. "

When Napoleon fell, in 1814, Madame de Staël hurried home from herlong exile. The great news found Madame Récamier at Rome. In a fewdays, she embraced her illustrious friend in Paris. Close was theirunion, great their joy. It was engrossing admiration and devotion onone side; absorbing sympathy, respect, and gratitude, on the other. The power and charm of Madame Récamier were not merely in herravishing beauty, imperturbable good nature, and all-subduinggraciousness, but also in her mind and character. Madame de Staël, who was a great critic, and no flatterer, says to her, "What a charm there is in your manner of writing! I wish you wouldcompose a romance, put in it some celestial being, and give her yourown natural expressions, without altering a word. You have acharacter of astonishing nobleness; and the contrast of your delicateand gracious features, with your grand firmness of soul, produces anincomparable effect. "

The last letter written by the dying author to her friend concludedwith the words, "All that is left of me embraces you. " The survivorpaid the pious rites of affection to the departed, with the devotionwhich had marked their whole relation. And when, years afterward, onthe loss of her property, Madame Récamier betook herself to theAbbaye-aux-Bois, in her humble chamber, where she was more sought andadmired than ever in her proudest prosperity, the chief articles tobe seen, in addition to the indispensable furniture, were, asChateaubriand has described the scene, a library, a harp, a piano, amagnificent portrait of Madame de Staël by Gerard, and a moonlightview of Coppet. Madame de Staël had once written to her, "Yourfriendship is like the spring in the desert, that never fails; and itis this which makes it impossible not to love you. " Death caused nodecay of that sentiment, but raised and sanctified it. Her translatedfriend now became an object of worship; and she devoted her wholeenergies to extend and preserve the memory of the illustrious writer. 

The self-forgetting sympathy of Madame Récamier, and the magicalatmosphere of loveliness she carried around her, obtained for hermany warm friendships with women. Foremost, by far, among these wasthat with Madame de Staël. But others also were very dear. The widowof Matthieu de Montmorency was extremely attached to her, wrote hertouching letters, and took every opportunity to see her. Madame deBoigne, too, was joined with Madame Récamier in a relation of respectand affection truly profound and vivid. This lady was greatlydistinguished for her beauty as well as for her voice, which wascompared with that of Catalani. She was much impressed by the noblebehavior of Madame Récamier at the time of her husband's bankruptcy;and, by her delicate attentions, secured the most grateful love inreturn. Their earnest and faithful affection lasted until death. Anovel, entitled "Une Passion dans le Grande Monde, " in which Madamede Staël and Madame Reeamier are the two chief characters, was leftfor publication by Madame de Boigne at her death. It was published in1866. 

One of Madame Récamier's sweetest friendships was with theaccomplished and charming Elizabeth Foster, Duchess of Devonshire, the fame of whose exquisite loveliness traversed the earth. Theduchess said of her friend, "At first she is good, then she isintellectual, and after this she is very beautiful, " a strikingcompliment, when spoken, in relation to an admired rival, by one whowas herself so dazzlingly gifted. The order of precedence in hercharms, however, was differently recognized by men. They were subduedsuccessively by her beauty, her goodness, her judgment, hercharacter. The Duchess of Devonshire had known all the romance andall the sorrow of life. Her experience had left upon her a melancholywhich attracted the heart almost as quickly as it did the eye, andlent to her something pensive and caressing. Although a Protestant, she had formed, during her long residence in Rome, an entirefriendship with the Cardinal Consalvi, who was the prime-minister andfavorite of Pope Pius VII through his whole pontificate. These twobeautiful women, as soon as they met, felt, by all the laws ofelective affinity, that they belonged to each other. The death of thePope was followed, in a few months, by that of his minister andfriend. During the illness of Consalvi, Madame Récamier shared allthe hopes, fears, and distresses of the duchess. And when the fatalevent had befallen, and the cardinal was laid in state, and theromantic and despairing woman would go to look on her dead friend, she accompanied her, deeply veiled, through the crowd, and knelt withher, amidst the solemn pomp, in tears and prayer, beside theunanswering clay. The duchess was struck to the heart by thisirreparable loss. All that a devoted sympathy could yield to sootheand sustain, she received from Madame Récamier. And when, soon after, unable to speak, she lay dying, she silently pressed the hand of thisfaithful friend, as the final act of her existence. 

Madame Récamier retained to the last her enviable power of inspiringaffection. Madame Lenormant says that the Countess Caffarelli foundher, in her age and blindness, watching by the death-bed ofChateaubriand. Drawn by her singular goodness, she sought to sharewith her in these holy cares. She thus became the loving and belovedassociate of the final hour. This admirable person worthily closesthe list the rich and bright list of the friends of Madame Récamier. 

In her youth, the first wish of Madame Récamier was the wish toplease; and she was, no doubt, a little too coquettish, not enoughconsiderate of the masculine hearts she damaged, and the femininehearts she pained. The Duke de Laval said, "The gift of involuntaryand powerful fascination was her talisman. " Not, sometimes, to make avoluntary use of that talisman, she must have been more than human. As years and trials deepened her nature, she sought rather to makehappy than merely to please. She always cared more to be respectedthan to be flattered, to be loved than to be admired. Admiration andsympathy were stronger in her than vanity and love of pleasure:reason and justice were strongest of all. Her judgment was as clear, her conscience as commanding, her sincerity, courage, and firmness asadmirable, as her heart was rich and good. When Fouche said to her, in her misfortunes and exile, "The weak ought to be amiable, " sheinstantly replied, "And the strong ought to be just. " Her exquisitesymmetry of form, her dazzling purity of complexion, her graciousnessof disposition, her perfect health, her desire to please, andgenerous delight in pleasing, composed an all-potent philter, whichthe sympathy of every spectator drank with intoxicating effect. Shediscriminated, with perfect truthfullness, the various degrees ofacquaintance and friendship. She made all feel self-complacent, byher unaffected attention causing them to perceive that she wishedtheir happiness and valued their good opinion. Ballanche tells her, "You feel yourself the impression you make on others, and areenveloped in the incense they burn at your feet. " Wherever she went, as if a celestial magnet passed, all faces drifted towards her withadmiring love and pleasure. By her lofty integrity and her matchlesssweetness and skill, as by a rare alchemy, she transmuted herfugitive lovers into permanent friends. Her talents were asattractive as her features: little by little her conversation madethe listener forget even her loveliness. Saint-Beuve says, "As herbeauty slowly retreated, the mind it had eclipsed gradually shoneforth, as on certain days, towards twilight, the evening star appearsin the quarter of the heaven opposite to the setting sun. " Her voicewas remarkably fresh, soft, and melodious. Her politeness neverforsook her: with an extreme ease of manner, she had a horror offamiliarity, as well as of all excess and violence. Her moderation ofthought, serenity of soul, and velvet manner, were as unwearying asreason and harmony. Without pretence of any sort, she hid, under thefull bloom of her beauty and her fame, like humble violets, modestyand disinterestedness. At the time of her death, Guizot, when adistinguished American lady asked him what was the marvel of herfascination, replied, with great emotion, "Sympathy, sympathy, sympathy. " She had none of that aridity of heart which regularcoquetry either presupposes or produces. Deprived by destiny of thoserelations which usually fill the heart of woman, she carried into theonly sentiment allowed her, an ardor, a faithfullness, and adelicacy, which were unequalled; and the veracity of her soul, joinedwith her singular discretion, gave her friends a most enjoyable senseof security. Ballanche called her "the genius of devotedness;" andMontalembert, "the genius of confidence. "

From the most dangerous and deteriorating influences of her positionshe found a safeguard in active works of charity. Her pecuniarygenerosity, in her days of opulence, was boundless. She seemed tofeel that every unfortunate had a right to her interest and herassistance. "Disgrace and misfortune had for her, " avowed one whoknew her entirely, "the same sort of attraction that favor andsuccess have for vulgar souls; and under no circumstances was sheever false to this characteristic. " The fine taste she had forliterature and art, the great pleasure she took in their beauties, the natural grace and good-will with which she expressed heradmiration, furnished precisely that kind of incense which authorsand artists love to breathe. Old Laharpe, who, in her young days, hadderived the deepest delight from her attention and praise, wrote toher, "I love you as one loves an angel. " The readiness with which theword "angel" rises to the lips of her friends is striking. Almostevery one of them applies the word to her on nearly every occasion. Madame de Krudener writes to her, "I shall have the happiness, Ihope, dear angel, of embracing you to-morrow, and talking with you. "All seemed instantly to recognize something angelic in herexpression. It was in her disposition as much as in her appearance, apparently in the latter because in the former, as Ballanche said toher, "In your thought, taste, and grace will ever be united in oneharmonious whole. I am fascinated at the idea of so perfect aharmony, and want the whole world to know what I so easily divine. Itwill be your mission to make the intrinsic character of beauty fullyunderstood; to show that it is an entirely moral thing. Had Platoknown you, he need not have resorted to so subtile an argument. Youwould have made him alive to a truth that was always a mystery tohim; and that rare genius would thus have had one more title to theadmiration of the world. "

There was something celestial in her motions, that suggested theundulations of a spirit rather than joints and muscles, and made hersoul and flesh one melody. As to her heavenly temper of goodness, there is but one voice from all who knew her. She accorded to thesufferings of self-love a pity and kindness seldom shown to them. Shehad the sweetest faculty for dressing the wounds of envy andjealousy, soothing the lacerations of rivalry and hate, assuaging thebitterness of neglected and revengeful souls. For all those moralpains, or griefs of imagination, which burn in some natures with acruel intensity, she was a true sister of charity. To the rest of herwinsome gifts she added according to the unanimous testimony of thewitnesses this rare and resistless quality, the power of listeningto, and occupying herself with, others, the secret both of socialsuccess, and of happiness without that success. "She said little, " DeTocqueville avers, "but knew what each man's forte was, and led himto it. If any thing was said particularly well, her face brightened. You saw that her attention was always active, always intelligent. "Lamartine said, "As radiant as Aspasia, but a pure and ChristianAspasia, it was not her features only that were beautiful: she wasbeautiful herself. " Sarah Austin affirmed, "It was the atmosphere ofbenignity which seemed to exhale like a delicate perfume from herwhole person, that prolonged the fascination of her beauty. " AndLemoine declared, in his eloquent obituary notice, "In the hearts ofthose who had the honor and the happiness of living in constantintercourse with her, Madame Récamier will for ever remain the objectof a sort of adoration which we should find it impossible toexpress. " The only fault her friends would confess in her was thegenerous fault of too great toleration and indulgence. And to dwellunkindly on this is as ungracious a task as to try to fix a stain ona star. 

Arrayed in her divine charms; armed with irresistible goodness andarchness; enriched with equal wisdom and uprightness, every movementa mixture of grace and dignity; protected by an aureole of puritywhich always surrounded her; walking among common mortals, "like agoddess on a cloud, " she made it the business of her life to softenthe asperities, listen to the' plans, sympathize with thedisappointments, stimulate the powers, encourage the efforts, praisethe achievements, and enjoy the triumphs, of her friends. No wonderthey loved her, and thronged around her alike in prosperity and inadversity. To appreciate her character is a joy; to portray herexample, a duty. She was a kind of saint of the world. 

The single fault which Saint-Beuve finds with the spirit of thesociety she formed, and governed so long with her irresistiblesceptre, is that there was too much of complaisance and charity init. Stern truth suffered, and character was enervated, while courtesyand taste flourished: "The personality or self-love of all who cameinto the charmed circle was too much caressed. " One can scarcely helplamenting that so gracious a fault is not oftener to be met in theselfish and satirical world. For the opposite fault of a harshcarelessness is so much more frequent as to make this seem almost avirtue. Cast in an angel's mould, and animated with an angel'sspirit, her consciousness vacant of self, vacant also of an absorbingaim, ever ready to install the aim of any worthy person who camebefore her, she was such a woman as Dante would have adored. It seemsimpossible not to recognize how much fitter a type of womanhood sheis for her sex to admire than those specimens who spend their days inpublicly ventilating their vanity, feverishly courting notoriety andpower; or those who, without cultivation, without expansion, withoutdevotion, without aspiration, lead a life of monotonous drudgery, with not a single interest beyond their own homes. 

A certain Madame Ancelot has written a book, in which, doubtlessunder the pain of some galling memory--she attacks Madame Récamieras a selfish coquette, enamored only of admiration, fame, and power. Her chief weapon, as this woman asserts, was a skilful application ofdeliberate unprincipled flattery to the pride and vanity of everybodyshe met. The conduct attributed to Madame Récamier in the odiousexamples fabricated by this slanderer, would have been insufferablyrepulsive even to average persons. To persons of such insight, refinement, and elevation as marked all her most intimate associates, it would have been unutterably disgusting. The whole representation, while awakening the indignation of the reader, shows what a degradingcaricature noble souls undergo when reflected in the minds of baseobservers. Contrast with the view of this Madame Ancelot what is saidwith unquestionable authority, after the intimacy of a lifetime, bythe gifted and illustrious Countess de Boigne. "Amidst theoverwhelming reverses of her husband's fortunes, I found MadameRécamier so calm, so noble, so simple, lifted so far above all thevain shows of her former life, that I was extremely struck; and Idate from that moment the vivid affection which subsequent eventshave served only to confirm. No portrait does her justice. All praiseher incomparable beauty, her active beneficence, her sweet urbanity. Many declare her great talents; but few have discerned, through thehabitual ease of her intercourse, the loftiness of her heart, theindependence of her character, the impartiality of her judgment, andthe fairness of her soul!" These are the words of one absolutelycompetent to judge, intrinsically incapable of falsifying; and alsowhen death had removed every motive for flattery. 

All who have written on this most admired and beloved woman have hadmuch to say of the secret and the lesson of her sway. One ascribesher dominion to a subtile blandishment; another to a marvellous tact, another to an indescribable magic. But really the secret was simple. It was the refined suavity and Womanliness of her nature, theineffable charm of a temper of unconquerable sweetness andkindliness, a ruling "desire to give pleasure, avert pain, avoidoffence, render her society agreeable to all its members, and enableevery one to present himself in the most favorable light. " Let thefair creatures made to adorn and reign over society add to theirbeauty, as Sarah Austin observes, the proper virtues of true-born andChristian women, gentleness, love, anxiety to please, fearfullness tooffend, meekness, pity, an overflowing good-will manifested in kindwords and deeds, and they may see in the example before us how highand lasting its empire is. This is the true secret revealed, this thegenuine lesson taught, by the rare career which we have beenreviewing. 

After this glorious example of the moral mission of woman, gloriousdespite its acknowledged imperfections, it is not necessary to denythe common assertion, that men have a monopoly of the sentiment offriendship. Neither is it necessary to expatiate on the greathappiness this sentiment is capable of yielding in the comparativelynarrow and quiet lives of women, or to insist on the larger spacewhich ought to be assigned to the cultivation of it in those lives. The moral of the whole subject may be put into one short sentence, namely this: The chief recipe for giving richness and peace to thesoul is, less of vague passion, less of ambitious activity, anti moreof dedicated sentiment in the private personal relations of the innerlife. 

How little matter unto us the great!What the heart touches, that controls our fate. From the full galaxy we turn to one, Dim to all else, but to ourselves the sun;And still, to each, some poor, obscurest lifeBreathes all the bliss, or kindles all the strife. Wake up the countless dead; ask every ghost, Whose influence tortured or consoled the most?How each pale spectre of the host would turnFrom the fresh laurel and the glorious urn, To point where rots, beneath a nameless stone, Some heart in which had ebbed and flowed its own!

The salon which Madame Swetchine opened in the Rue Saint-Dominiquewas one of the powers of Paris for over forty years. Here she drewaround her all that was most select, most distinguished, mostexalted, in Catholic France; and subdued all by the holy dignity ofher character, the authority of her wisdom, the sweetness of herspirit, and the charm of her manners. In the homage she inspired, thefavors she distributed, and the tributes she received, she was trulya queen. Her days were divided into parts, observed with strictuniformity. She reserved the morning to herself, hearing mass andvisiting the poor until eight o'clock; then returning home, andclosing her door until three. From three to six she received company;secluded herself from six to nine; and welcomed her friends againfrom nine until midnight. Her drawing-room, if not so famous, was asinfluential and fascinating to its frequenters as that of MadameRécamier. Unlike as they were, they have often been compared. TheRécamier salon, with its slightly intoxicating perfume of elegance, was infinitely more easy, more agreeable; the Swetchine salon, withits bracing atmosphere of sanctity, was more earnest, more religious. Though personal nobleness was honored in both, polished fashionpredominated in one, devout principle in the other. The presidinggenius of the former was the perfection of the best spirit of theworld; the presiding genius of the latter was the perfection of thebest spirit of the Catholic Church. The guests of Madame Récamierwent to the Abbaye-aux-Bois to please and to be pleased, to exchangeeloquent thoughts, to breathe chivalrous sentiments, and to enjoy anexquisite grace of politeness never surpassed. The guests of MadameSwetchine went to the Rue Saint-Dominique to take counsel on theaffairs of the higher politics, the interests of the nation, and thewelfare of the Church; to enjoy a community of faith and aspiration, to refresh their best purposes, and to learn how more effectively toserve the great ends to which they were pledged. There, liberty ofopinion and speech was unlimited, and a refined complacency aimed at;here, loyalty to certain foregone principles and institutions wasexpected, and a tacit spiritual direction maintained: but in bothwere found the same delightful moderation, repose, and graciousforbearance; the same reconciling skill; the same indescribable artof ruling and leading while appearing to obey and follow. 

These illustrious women were perhaps equal in the interest theyawakened, and the sway they exercised over their friends; but therewas a great difference in the secret of the charm which theyseverally possessed. There is nothing more disagreeable in acompanion than pre-occupation, if it be pre-occupation with self;nothing more fascinating, if it be pre-occupation with you, or withsomething of universal authority and attraction. The spell of MadameRécamier lay in her irresistible personal beauty, grace, andgraciousness; that of Madame Swetchine, in her unquestionablegreatness and goodness and simplicity. Each was marvellously self-detached and kind to everybody. But Madame Récamier was an unoccupiedmirror, ready to reflect upon you what you brought before it; MadameSwetchine, a mirror pre-occupied with the lovely and authoritativeforms of virtue, wisdom, and piety. The former personally enchantedand captivated all; the latter caused all to bow, with herself, before a common sovereignty. The one was the fairest model of nature;the other, a representative of supernatural realities, a holy symbolof God. 

It is extremely interesting to trace the effect of these remarkablepersonalities on each other. When Madame Swetchine visited Rome, atthe age of forty-two, her mind was somewhat imbued with prejudicesagainst Madame Récamier, whom she had never seen, and who was thentarrying there. Madame Récamier was forty-seven years old, with areputation unsullied by a breath, and a beauty which was remarkableeven twenty years afterwards. The manner in which Madame Swetchinespeaks of her, in a letter to Madame de Montcalm, forms the leastsatisfactory passage we remember in all her correspondence:

"Madame Récamier seems sincerely to prefer a secluded life. It isfortunate, her beauty and celebrity being on the decline: ruins makelittle sensation in a country of ruins. It seems that to be drawn toher one must know her more; and, after such brilliant successes, certainly nothing can be more flattering than to reckon almost asmany friends as formerly lovers. Perhaps, however, not that I woulddetract from her merit, had she but once loved--the number wouldhave been sensibly diminished. "

It is charming to see, in the rich, eloquent letter which MadameSwetchine wrote to Madame Récamier, soon after their first interview, how quickly these prejudices were dispelled on personal contact, andreplaced by an earnest attachment:

"I have yielded to the penetrating, indefinable charm with which youenthrall even those for whom you do not yourself care. It seems as ifwe had passed a long time together, and had many memories in common. This would be inexplicable, did not certain sentiments have a littleof eternity in them. One should say, that, when souls touch, they putoff all the poor conditions of earth; and, happier and freer, alreadyobey the laws of a better world. "

The reciprocation of this interest is shown by the fact, that MadameRécamier urgently besought Madame Swetchine to make her residence inthe same house with her, the Abbaye-aux-Bois; which she wouldprobably have done, had it not been for the objections of GeneralSwetchine. 

The open secret of the wonderful influence which Madame Swetchineexerted on all who came in contact with her, of the extreme reverenceand love with which they regarded her, was, therefore, theincomparable power, sincerity, generosity, and gentleness of hercharacter. But to appreciate this truth, and learn the lesson itconveys, we must analyze the case more in detail. The distinguishedfriend who has written her life says, "The most remarkable peculiarity of the character of Madame Swetchinewas, that all the qualities, all the virtues, and all the powers weredistributed in perfect harmony. She was in the same degreeenthusiastic and sensible, because her reason was equal to herimagination: she thought as deeply as she felt. However often a manin mind, she always remained a woman in heart; and her personalabnegation was neither feigned nor studied. As exempt from envy asfrom ambition, she lived first in others, then in public works; onlythought of herself after being occupied with everybody else; andgreat as was her dislike of egotism, never needed to rebuke itbecause she found such a rich joy in the opposite sentiment. Herdisinterestedness reconciled others to her superiority. "

Her faith stood so firm in the whirlwind of opinions, that she needednot to bolster it by bigotry. To the friends, who once murmuredagainst her too great tolerance, she replied, "Of what use is it tolive, if one is never to hear any thing but his own voice?" Hercompassion and her patience were unconquerable. Nothing could drawfrom her the slightest sign of vexation or weariness. One of herconstant visitors, for fifteen years, was a woman universallydetested for her outrageous temper and her bad manners. Theannouncement of her name was the signal of dismay and dispersion. Butthe saintly hostess invariably gave her an affectionate reception;and to all the attempts made to induce her to cast off the obnoxiousguest, she said, with a smile, "What do you wish? All the worldavoids her; she is unhappy, and she has only me. " This woman died ofold age; and, during her last days, Madame Swetchine went often tosee her, and passed long hours beside her death-bed. 

The face of Madame Swetchine, without being handsome, was remarkablyexpressive; and the inflections of her singularly rich and strongvoice were exactly modulated to every thought and feeling of hersoul. Destitute of egotism herself, she showed an invariabletolerance for the egotisms of others, and her management of them wasa marvel of magnanimous considerateness and soothing skill. Theunrestrained frankness of her affection, the intimate confidences sheimparted, the noble grounds she assumed to be common to them and her, the tender compliments she was ever paying them with all the skill ofa sincere heart, were irresistible. She writes to the Duchess de laRochefoucauld, "Reply to all my inquiries; especially speak to me ofyourself. I long to be relieved from the punishment of your reserve. "Some persons would deal with souls as carelessly as if they werepieces of mechanism; handle hearts as they would handle groceries. Madame Swetchine was unable to contemplate without awe, or treatwithout scrupulous delicacy, a human spirit seeking to open and showitself to her as it was in the eyes of God. 

In addition to all this, she had an amazing knowledge of themysteries of human nature and the experience of human life. She saidshe had traversed the whole circle of passions and affections, andwas a true doctor of that law. "Reading in my own heart, I havelearned to understand the hearts of others: the single knowledge ofmyself has given me the key of those innumerable enigmas called men. "She avowed herself an instinctive disciple of Lavater, and said, "Theexpression of the face is the accent of the figure. " Her biographersays that her insight amounted almost to divination. A word, agesture, a look, a silence, hardly noticed by others, was to her acomplete revelation. She had the science of souls, as physicists havethe science of bodies. While the ordinary man sees in a plant merelyits color or its outline, the botanist discerns, at first sight, allits specific attributes. Such was the power of Madame Swetchine: onelineament, one trait, enabled her to recognize and reconstruct awhole character. There is no luxury greater than that of unveilingour inmost souls where we are sure of meeting a superiorintelligence, invincible charity, generous sympathy, and neededsupport and guidance. All this was certain to be found in MadameSwetchine. She had no rivalry, no envy, no desire to eclipse any one, no bigotry or asperity; and the aged, the mature, and the youthful, alike came with grateful pleasure under her empire. Women, usuallylittle accessible to the influence of another woman, were full oftrust and docility towards her. Loving solitude, plunging intometaphysics as into a bath, she yet took great delight in the beauty, freshness; playfullness, and hopes of girls just entering society. Her taste in every thing belonging to the toilet was known to be fineand sure: they loved, when in full dress for company, to pass underher eyes; and she deeply enjoyed admiring and praising them, at thesame time pointing out any thing ill-judged or excessive. Notunfrequently, the same ones, who, in the evening, in their glitteringarray, had paused on their way to the ball, would return in themorning, and sit with her, face to face, in communion on far otherand graver matters. Sick and erring hearts showed themselves to herin utter sincerity, while, with unwearied sympathy and adroit wisdom, she poured on them, drop by drop, the light, the truth, the life, they needed. No one can tell to how many she was a spiritual mother, her direction all the more welcome and efficacious that she was not adirector by profession, but by instinctive fitness. 

Madame Swetchine enjoyed friendships of extraordinary strewth andpreciousness with the Countess de Nesselrode, the Princess Galitzin, Madame de Saint Aulaire, the Duchess de Duras, the Marchioness deLillers, Madame Craven, the Duchess de la Rochefoucauld, and manyother women of noble natures and rich interior lives. The record oftheir intercourse is an imperial banquet for the mind and heart ofthe reader. The study of it must make ordinary women sigh for envyand shame over their own cold relations, outward ambition, sterileexperience, and suspicious caution. Madame Swetchine writes, "I havelong made over all my invested capital to the account of those Ilove: their welfare, their hopes, are the income on which I live. "The Duchess de Duras writes to her, "I love you more than I shouldhave believed it ever would be possible for me to love, after what Ihave experienced. I believe in you, I who have become so suspicious. I rely on you with entire security, whatever happens. " Again shewrites, when her friend is absent in Russia, "I miss you everymoment. Return, return. Your chamber is ready, and that of Nadine. Come, come, dear friend: life is so short, why lose it thus?" MadameSwetchine held such a high place in the esteem of her friends, because she was so serene, so wise, so steadfast, so kind, so pure, that she soothed and strengthened all who came near her. One of herfriends expresses this in saying to her, "No society pleases andagrees with me like yours. " She always acted on her own aphorism, "Tobear faults, to manage egotisms, is an aim perhaps best accomplishedby a skilful dissimulation; but the true ideal is to correct faultsand to cure self-love. "

The best example, in a relation with one of her own sex, of thatsentiment of friendship which was such a pervasive need of MadameSwetchine's nature, and which she experienced so profusely, was herconnection with Roxandra Stourdza, a Greek maiden of great beauty andgenius, born at Constantinople. Originally brought together at court, when the latter was maid of honor to the Empress Elizabeth, theyformed an enthusiastic attachment, which, for half a century, largelyconstituted the richness, consolation, and joy of their lives. Themonument of it preserved in their correspondence possesses extremeinterest and value, and must secure for it a prominent place amongthe few historic friendships of women. The oriental Roxandra was theobject of an admiration truly romantic from her friend, who seemedalways to see her seated on an ideal throne, and to address her assome queen of Trebizond. Saint-Beuve says, the refined and exaltedaffection between these two young persons, living in the artificialworld of the Russian court, and each throwing back, in her own way, the mystic influences derived from the sky of Alexandria, affectedhim as the exciting perfume exhaled by two rare plants nourished in ahot-house. It is unimaginable what lofty, exquisite, and mysterioussentiments they exchange. Their naked souls and minds, with all theirworkings, are visible in these ingenuous and crowded letters, as in aglass hive we can study the industry of bees. Saint-Beuve affirms, that the later difference in their religion, the Countess Edlingalways remaining in the Greek communion, Madame Swetchine becoming azealous Catholic, finally made ice between them; and that, when thecountess came to Paris to visit her old friend, she complained offinding coldness and reserve. Probably there was something in this, but not much. The friendship will be best revealed by citing, fromthe parties themselves, some of its characteristic expressions. 

The letters of Roxandra have not been published; but, in those ofSophie, both souls are clearly reflected. For, as M. De Falloux says, Madame Swetchine never Ised hackneyed language, never repeated forone what he had first thought for another. She placed herself, with askill, or rather a condescension, truly marvelous, at the point ofview of those with whom she conversed; and she would never have soeasily ended by bringing them to herself, had she not always begunby going to them. This habit was so familiar, this movement sonatural to her, that, at the close of every correspondence, we havebefore our eyes the physiognomy of the correspondent as distinctlyoutlined as the physiognomy of the writer:

"Did you believe me, my dear Roxandra, when I mechanically said, onleaving you, that I should write to you only after five or six clays?I knew not what I said at the time. If you begin to know me a little, you have seen that I could never hear so long a silence. La Bruyerehas said, How difficult it is to be satisfied with any one! Ah! well, my friend, I am satisfied with you; and, were it not for my extremeself-distrust, which nourishes so many inquietudes, I should bealmost tranquil, almost happy, almost reasonable. My friend, thismoment I receive your letter: how can I thank you? Ah! read mygrateful heart; and sometimes tell me, that you wish to keep it, inorder that it may become worthy of you. " "I feel so deeply thehappiness of being loved by you, that you can never cease to loveme. " "I need to know all your thoughts, to follow all your motions, and can find no other occupation so sweet and so dear. " "My heart isso full of you, that, since we parted, I have thought of nothing butwriting to you. " "I see in your soul as if it were my own. " "DearRoxandra, you are every way a privileged being: you unite theadvantages of the most opposed characters without any of theirinconveniences. " "My attachment for you will, without doubt, be aconsolation; but that word, when not unmeaning, is so sad that Idesire my friendship to fulfil higher offices. I often envycharacters whose impressions are slight and transient. The spongepasses across the slate, and nothing is left. Perhaps such a naturebest agrees with man, whose pleasures are for a moment, whose painsfor a life. Adieu, my friend! How many times already that word hasfilled my heart with grief! Take good care of yourself; hasten toGod; and, when the struggle is too severe, beseech grace instead ofcombating. " "It seems to me that souls seek each other in the chaosof this world, like elements of the same nature tending to re-unite. They touch, they feel themselves tallied; confidence is establishedwithout an assignable cause. Reason and reflection following, andfixing the seal of their approval on the union, think they have doneit all, as subaltern ministers regard the transactions of theirmasters nothing until they have been permitted to sign their names atthe bottom. I fear no misunderstanding with you; and my gratitudealone can equal the perfect security with which you inspire me. " "Imust show myself to you absolutely as I am. " "I know of no pleasuremore alluring than a sweet and confidential converse which beginswith an interchange of ideas, and ends with one of sentiments. This Ihave found in our intercourse. " "It seems to me that your good angelis very busy about you, and is covering your thorns with some fewflowers. How I should like to be charged with the visible executionof this charming mission!" "When near you, I breathe the atmosphereof calmness and depth, which agrees with me: although I have not therages of King Saul, there is in the sound of your voice something, Iknow not what, that reminds me of the effect of the harp of David. ""Never was there a goodness more compassionate and penetrating thanyours. Yours are the words that seek pain at the bottom of the soulin order to soothe it. How well you possess that divine dexteritywhich applies balm to wounds almost without touching them!" "Myfriend, I have met nothing sweeter, more consoling to love, than you. The admirable simplicity of your character, its steadiness, itsfrankness, have a charm which more than attracts: it fixes. " "We mustcarry, untouched, to the gates of eternity the deposit each hasconfided to the other. "

The above extracts give some idea of the warmth and preciousness ofthe surpassing friendship, but no idea of the high and varied rangeof intellectual and religious interests that entered into it. "Ialways, " Madame Swetchine writes, "have your little ring on myfinger. This symbol, fragile as all symbols, will outlive me; but Igrieve not for that, since I am sure that the sentiment which makesme prize it so highly will survive it in turn. " Dora Greenwell says, "The letters of Madame Swetchine are full of an intimate sweetnessthat has something in it, piercing even to pain, like the scent ofthe sweet-brier. " We are reminded of this when she writes, "If lifewere perfectly beautiful, yet death would be perfectly desirable. "Also again, when she writes to her Roxandra, "What is the pen, sadsignal of our long separation, after the pleasure of flinging myselfon your neck, and pouring my soul into yours through a deluge ofwords?" The two friends often indulged the sweet dream of passingtheir last years together, preparing; each other for the passageequally dreaded and desired, advancing arm in arm and heart in hearttowards the unknown. The dream was not destined for fulfilment. ButMadame Swetchine had the great joy of seeing her favorite nephew oneof the Gargarin boys whom she loved so fondly in their childhoodmarried to Marie Stourdza, the niece and sole heiress of her friend. The only words we have seen from Roxandra herself are worthy of theeulogies paid her, and would seem to justify the highest estimate ofher character. She says, "May we all contribute, by our life and ourdeath, to the great thought of God, the re-establishment of order andof truth among men!" And again, amid the alarming revolutions thatwere shaking all Europe, she says, "We are witnessing the grandjudgment of human pride. "

Among the wretched children of misfortune, loved and aided by thesaintly charity of Madame Swetchine, she was especially drawn to thesolacement of deaf mutes. She keenly felt the sadness and dangerconsequent on this cruel infirmity. She took, as her own maid, a poordeaf mute, named Parisse, whose temper was so bad that she wasscarcely tolerated by any one. She found a charm in taking her walkswith this still companion, to whom it was not necessary to speak, andwho was not humiliated in keeping silence. "With Parisse, " she said, "I can believe myself alone, and have a needed arm to support me, andan aid which does not encroach on my liberty. " Thus she loved toappear the obliged party rather than the benefactress. The haughtyand quarrelsome Parisse often put on the grand airs of an outragedqueen. When the other servants were battling with her, MadameSwetchine would go among them, and say, "I love you all, but knowthat every one shall go before Parisse: she is the most unfortunate, and much should be excused in her. " After enduring almost everything, she succeeded, by her imperturbable good-nature and firmness, in winning the poor girl to a more amiable behavior. Parisseworshipped her mistress, and had the joy one day of being representedbehind her in the likeness engraved by a celebrated artist. Theybecame really attached friends. Is it not touchingly instructive thusto trace the religious ascent of the soul of this noble woman in herfriendships, as they successively stoop from the Czarina Marie to thedeaf mute Parisse? In his funeral sermon on Madame Swetchine, Lacordaire thus alludes to Parisse: "As we watched the sad setting ofthat beauteous star, I saw her beloved mute following her with hereyes from an adjoining chamber, the vigilant sentinel of a life whichhad been so lavish of itself, and whose light went out with faithfulfriendship on the one side, and grateful poverty on the other. "

Madame Swetchine was endowed from birth with the material, thephysiological conditions, for a great and original character, forcecompetent to the finest and the grandest things, with an over-bias ofthat force to the brain. For long periods, she was compelled to walkin her chamber from seven to eight hours a day, to avoid intolerablenervous pressures and pains. At sixty-six, she wrote to one of herfriends, "My interior life sterilizes itself by reason ofsuperabundance; the too great fullness causes an incessantrestlessness. I cannot give body to the multitude of confused ideaswhich crowd each other, interweave, and suffocate me for want ofarticulation. " This profuse force, which continued throughout herlife, enabled her to achieve an amount of work, and acquire a wealthof knowledge and wisdom, truly astonishing. Her youthful education, with the many difficult accomplishments she mastered, was the firstresource for the occupation of her teeming energy. The second was thedischarge of her domestic and public duties, with as much discretionand skill as if her sole ambition were to be a faultless housekeeperand member of the social order. The third was friendship, to whosegenial duties of visiting and correspondence she devoted herself witha fullness and an ardor as passionate as they were genuine. And yetthere remained a surplusage of unappropriated soul, whose vague andconstant action distressed her. She entered on an extensive study ofliterature, history, psychology, and philosophy. Her biographer says, that scarcely an important work on these subjects appeared in Europefor fifty years with whose contents she did not familiarize herself, pen in hand. She interspersed these arduous labors by a systematicapplication to philanthropic works, personally visiting the sick andthe poor, and ministering to their wants. And still her force wasunexhausted she had more faculty and strength longing to be used, anddisturbing her with mysterious solicitations; a solitary activity, without aliment; a wheel for ever revolving in a void; a burningardor, which, in the absence of sufficing affections below, turnedupward, and became a subtile mysticism. When practical duty, friendship, literature, philosophy, and charitable deeds had failedto absorb and satisfy her, plainly there was but one resource left, religion. She entered on the path to God and his fellowship, thesublime way of the life of perfection. She entered on it with anextraordinary capacity for ascending through the various degrees ofperception, feeling, and transfusion; and, at the same time, with apower of rational poise which kept her experience of piety from thetwo extremes of mawkishness and delirium. Such balancing good senseand sobriety, such freedom from every thing morbid, combined with somuch thoroughness of faith and so much fervor, we know not where elseto find. Some hearts open downward, and send their exciting drenchthrough the body; hers opened upward, and sent its pure vapor aloftinto the mind to wear celestial colors. Her head was a higher heart, playing off intelligence and affection, transmuted into each other. 

In the charming treatise on "Old Age, " from the pen of MadameSwetchine, a piece of serene poetry and impassioned wisdom, a criticcomplains that she rather transfigures the subject than shows it. But, however much she may have transfigured it in description, inperson and experience she has shown it in the most beautiful form oftruth of which it is susceptible. Year by year, to the very end, shebecame ever wiser, calmer, more influential, more honored andbeloved, more saintly and content. Her religious abnegation grewperfect; her peace deepened; her active benevolence broadened; herspirit, always genially tolerant, acquired a mellower ripeness. Inrelation to one of her acquaintances, she says, "The last time I sawhim, I was struck by a kind of rigidity, of bitterness, a want ofcharity in his judgments which injured their justice; for the more Isee, the more I am convinced that we must love in order to know. " Thedetestable Rochefoucauld said, "Old age is the hell of women. " ForMadame Swetchine it had much more of paradise, as the rich ardor andimpetuosity of her youth slowly moderated, and, by judiciousoversight, she trained her powers into harmony among themselves andsubmission to God. Long before, she had said that the saddest of allsights was that of an aged woman, deprived of the consideration andrespect belonging to a serious life. Now she could say of herself, "Ihave deserved most of the disappointments I have experienced; yet Godhas softened them, as if he meant them not for penalties, but trials. Benevolence surrounds me; my need of esteem is satisfied; I haveknown the most distinguished people; my heart has been fortunate infriendship. Self-detached, in a calm and sweet tranquillity, I needno more, to close my course with courage. " She was not one of thosewho never speak of themselves because they are always thinking ofthemselves. De Tocqueville, after receiving an epistle from her, wrote back, with grateful delight in her frank and honoringconfidence, "Your letter is a full-length portrait of yourself. " Infact, she always spoke of herself with the utmost freedom, becauseshe looked at herself from without as she would at any other object. Her last years were a fine illustration of her own thought, "Old ageis the majestic and imposing dome of human life. "

The death of this memorable woman, touchingly described by Falloux ina letter to Montalembert written at the time, was worthy of what hadgone before it, of the preparations she had made for it, and of theglorious destiny to which she believed it the entrance. That "we areto seek God, not deludedly wait for him to seek us, " was not more themaxim of her pen than of her practice. "I speak to others; but withwhom do I converse, if it be not, O my God with thee?" To one of thegroup of tearful and venerating friends standing around her, shesaid, "Do not, my good friend, ask for me one day more, or one pangless. " Without any decay of her faculties or waning of her moralforce, bearing her sufferings with invincible patience and sweetness, maintaining a dignity of thought and speech comparable with that ofthe last conversation of Socrates, but with the triumph of a perfectChristian faith, she dropped what was mortal, and passed immortallyinto the bosom of God. It was in September, 1857, and she wasseventy-five years young. The great, dazzling, guilty Paris hasloosed no purer or richer spirit for the skies. Her dust hallows thecemetery of Montmartre, where, in the coming days, many a pilgrimwill go to look on her monument. 

While Margaret Fuller was yet a little girl, in her father's house, an elegant English lady came to pass a few weeks in Cambridge. Herbeauty, with her repose and softness of manner, wrought like astrange spell on the idealizing spirit of the lonely and passionategirl. She found the first angel of her life: heaven was opened; andthe image of the fair stranger, who soon vanished beyond the sea, wasan intoxicating vision in her brain, full of light and perfume, formany a year. In her later life, Margaret formed impassionedconnections with a great many superior girls, who were drawn to herby an affinity for her overflowing powers of intellect, feeling, andaspiration. The last on the list of her friendships was the nobleMarchioness Arconati, in Italy. The entire intercourse of these twowomen forms a chapter of devoted warmth and frankness. Through allher life, Margaret felt the necessity for intense relations ofaffection with the worthiest persons she met. One of her biographerssays, "Her friendships wore a look of such romantic exaggeration thatshe seemed to walk enveloped in a shining fog of sentimentalism. Yet, in fact, Truth at all cost was her ruling maxim. Her earnestness toread the hidden history of others was the gauge of her own emotion. "

This prayer was found among the papers written in her earlier life:"Father, I am weary. Re-assume me for a while, I pray thee. Oh, letme rest awhile in thee, thou only Love! In the depth of my prayer, Isuffer much. Take me only awhile. No fellow-being will receive me. Icannot pause: they will not detain me by their love. Take me awhile, and again I will go forth on a renewed service. I sink from want ofrest; and none will shelter me. Thou knowest it all. Bathe me in thyLove. " Emerson says of her, "Her friendships, as a girl with girls, as a woman with women, were not unmingled with passion, and hadpassages of romantic sacrifice and of ecstatic fusion, which I haveheard with the ear, but could not trust my profane pen to report. " Atthe close of her life, amidst the ruins of Rome, she wrote, "I havebeen the object of great love, from the noble and the humble: I havefelt it towards both. Yet I am tired out, tired of thinking andhoping, tired of seeing men err and bleed. Coward and foot-sore, gladly would I creep into some green recess, where I might see a fewnot unfriendly faces, and where not more wretches should come than Icould relieve. I am weary, and faith soars and sings no more. Nothinggood of me is left, except, at the bottom of the heart, a meltingtenderness. "

The Duchess of Orleans, that Helen of Mecklenburg who married theeldest son of Louis Philippe, was one of those women whose exaltedcharms of person, character, and manners glorify their sex, fascinateall beholders, and win the enthusiastic devotion of their associates. She was the worthy grand-daughter of that noble Duchess Louise ofSaxe-Weimar, wife of Carl August, the friend of Goethe and Schiller, of whom Napoleon said, "Behold a woman whom all my cannon cannotfrighten. " Through the checkered scenes of her brilliant andmelancholy lot, her happy childhood; her dazzling nuptials; herenviable married life; the terrible shock of her sudden widowhood;the frightful scenes of the revolution, when, with her infant son byher side, she confronted the levelled muskets of the infuriated mob, and looked massacre in the face, without the ruffle of a feature; thedismal days of exile, decline, and death, she bore herself with thatsweet dignity, that spotless purity, that ineffable and sublime graceof wisdom and goodness which sometimes appear to lift the perfectionof womanhood so nearly to the prerogatives of an angel. She had manyfriends of her own sex, who cherished an idolatrous affection forher. One of these, the inseparable companion of her existence, hasanonymously written a sketch of her life and character, a mostcharming and impressive tribute. This modest memoir instructivelysuggests far more than it betrays. The writer says of her adorablefriend, "Life was interesting by her side. She captivated theimagination of every one. I know no other woman with whom I couldconverse for twelve hours together, without for an instant feelingvoid or weariness. I feel as if I had always something to say to her;for her interest never flags. " It is singular that, of all themultitude who desire to enchain their friends, so few ever learn topractise the deep secret contained in this italicized clause, theinnocent secret of a self-abnegating heart of love. 

Sarah Austin, one of the wisest and noblest women of England, formeda reverential and ardent friendship for this matchless lady, in heradversity. How profound, how sacred this attachment was, is proved bythe notice which, on the day the duchess died, Mrs. Austin wrote, andsent to the press, blotted with tears; and also by the fuller sketchshe afterwards prefixed to her English translation of the life of theduchess from its French original. "Her character was alwayspresenting itself in new and harmonious lights; her manners wereindescribably refined and winning; her conversation never flagged, was never trifling, never pedantic, never harsh; it always kept youat an elevation which at once soothed and invigorated the mind. Therewas not in her nature the slightest tinge of the cynical skepticismor sarcastic contempt which chill the soul, and annihilate hope andcourage. These are the weapons which vulgar minds oppose tomisfortune, the bitter and poisonous plants which wrongs andcalamities produce in poor and barren hearts; but her tender andmagnanimous nature could bring forth nothing which was not good andgenerous. It was most affecting to watch the working of hertransparent mind through its faithful index, her countenance, duringconversation. 

"The interest her great qualities inspired was raised, by pity for hercruel misfortunes, to a height which might almost be called apassion. A veil of sadness overspread her sweet face; but behind thisveil there was always such a beaming benignity, so lovely a concernfor the welfare of mankind, such a high-hearted courage, that youleft her cheered rather than depressed. It is to the extraordinarypower she had of giving a high tone to the minds of others, joined tothe unalterable sweetness of her daily intercourse, that I attributethe discouraged feeling common to those who mourn her loss. If hermisfortunes were august, solemn, and terrible as a Greek tragedy, herheart was large, high, and strong enough to meet them. With all hergentleness, Christian and womanly patience, the most striking featurein her character was its moral grandeur. 

"Greatness of mind and noblenessBuild in her loveliest, and create an aweAbout her, as a guard angelic placed. "

Such a woman is the highest exemplar and benefactor of her sex. Areligious quality is evoked in the soul that contemplates her. Everyimpure feeling is struck dead with awe before her. The angelicserenity of her face is as if the smiles which others wear outwardly, with her had retreated inward, and hovered in perpetual play aboutthe heart. By spiritual contact with her, other persons becomeangelic also. She teaches, by example, what a divine exaltation issometimes reached through adversity and pain. The head, discrowned ofearthly glory, is crowned with celestial beauty. When sufferingsstimulate virtues, the thorn-wreath blossoms on our brow: whensacrifices feed faith, the cross which we clasp puts on wings andlifts us heavenward. 

I have reserved, to close this chapter, a singularly romantic exampleof a pair of female friends, set forth by old Thomas Heywoode, in his"Nine Books of Various History concerning Women, " published at Londonin 1624. A certain sinless maiden, called Bona, "who lived a retiredlife in a house of religious Nunnes, had a bedfellow, unto whom, above all others, she was tied, lying on her death-bed, and no helpto be devised for her recovery. " This Bona, being herself in perfecthealth, besought the Almighty, that she might not survive her friend;but, as they had lived together in all sanctity and sisterly love, sotheir chaste bodies might not be separated in death. As she prayed, so it happened. Both died on the same day, and were buried in thesame sepulchre, being fellows in one house, one bed, and one grave;and now, no question, joyful and joint inheritors of one kingdom. 

NEEDS AND DUTIES OF WOMAN IN THIS AGE. 

IF one-tenth of the efforts which women now make to fill their timewith amusements, or to gratify outward ambition, were devoted topersonal improvement, and to the cultivation of high-tonedfriendships with each other, it would do more than any thing else toenrich and embellish their lives, and to crown them with contentment. Their characters would thus be elevated, their hearts warmed, theirminds stored, their manners refined, and kindness and courtesyinfused into their intercourse. 

Nothing else will ever add to society the freshness, variety, andstimulant charm, the noble truths and aspirations, the ingenuous, co-operating affections, whose absence at present makes it often sodeceitful and repulsive, so barren and wearisome. The relish ofexistence is destroyed, the glory of the universe darkened, tomultitudes of tender and highsouled persons, by the loathsomeinsincerity and treachery, the frivolous fickleness, the pettysuspicions and envies, and the incompetent judgments, which they areconstantly meeting. These superficial and miserable vices of commonsociety disenchant the soul, and dry up the springs of love and hope. They are fatal to that magnanimous wisdom and that trustful sympathywhich compose at once the brightest ornaments of our nature, and thecostliest treasures of experience. Ah, if, in place of them, we couldeverywhere meet the honest hand, the open heart, the serious mind, the frank voice, the upward eye, the emulous and helpful soul largelyendowed with knowledge and reverence! Then one would never betroubled with that frightfully depressing feeling--the feeling thatthere is nothing worth living for. Verily, the most dismal of alldeaths is to die from lack of a sufficient motive for living. And isit not to be feared that many in our age die this death?

The true remedy for the fierce, shallow war of society, or its fadedand jaded hollowness, is to be found in generous friendships, begotten by a common pursuit of the holiest ends of existence. In thenurture of these relations, by every law of fitness and want, itbelongs to women to take the lead. The realm of the affections, withits imperious exactions and its imperial largesses, is theirs. Certainly no right or privilege should be withheld from women; butthey ought to be careful not to mistake dangers or defects or vicesfor rights and privileges. It is simple blindness to fail to see thatthe distinctively feminine sphere of action is domestic life, and theinner life--not the brawling mart and caucus. The freedom andeducation of woman should be so enlarged that she can include, inintelligence and sympathy, all the interests of mankind. But, inaction, we would rather coax men to withdraw from the gladiatorialstrifes and shows of the world, than goad women to enter them. 

And yet this statement needs qualification. There is much to be saidon the other side. Woman is still generally regarded, on account ofthe transmitted opinions and usages of the past, as a mere appendageto man. The truth of the greatest importance to be considered is, that the element of humanity, not the element of sex, is the supremefact by which the question should be determined. Seen from the pointof view of absolute morality, man is no more a child of God and anheir of the eternal universe, than woman. She has a personal destinyof her own to fulfil, irrespective of him, just as much as he hasone, irrespective of her "The most important duty of woman, " it hasbeen said, "is to perfect man. " Why so? No one would say that themost important duty of man is to perfect woman. And yet, why is itnot just as much his duty to be her servant, as it is her duty to behis servant? It is a remnant of barbaric prejudice, preserved fromthe ages of brute force, which makes the difference in the estimate. The first duty of every human being is self-perfection. The ideal ofmarriage is the mutual perfection of both parties. In its truestidea, marriage is an institution for the perfecting of the race, bythe perfecting of individual men and women through their co-operatingintelligence and affection. To limit its end to the perfecting of theman alone, is the highest stretch of masculine arrogance. Is it not ajust inference, that, if woman is as completely a human unit as man, she has an equal right with him to the use of every means of self-development in the fulfilment of her destiny? The foremost claim tobe made in behalf of women, therefore, is liberty, as untrammelled achoice of occupation and mode of life, as free a range ofindividuality and spiritual fruition, as is granted to men. But wouldthis really be an advance, or a retrogression? Many maintain that itwould be subversive of the genuine progress of civilization, toabandon the prejudices and throw down the bars which have hithertorestrained women from a full share in the chosen avocations andambitions of men. All improvement is marked, they say, by an increaseof differences, greater separation and complexity of offices. Therefore, to efface or lessen the social distinctions between thesexes would be to reverse the order of development. Auguste Comte, who felt a strong interest in this subject, and had a deep insightinto some of its data, says, "All history assures us, that, with thegrowth of society, the peculiar features of each sex have become notless but more distinct. Woman may persuade, advise, judge; but sheshould not command. By rivalry in the selfish pursuits of life, mutual affection between the sexes would be corrupted at its source. There is a visible tendency towards the removal of women, wherever itis possible, from all industrial occupations. Christianity has takenfrom them the priestly functions they held under Polytheism. With thedecline of the principle of caste, they are more rigidly excludedfrom royalty and every kind of political authority. Thus their life, instead of becoming independent of the Family, is becoming moreconcentrated in it. That Man should provide for Woman is a law of thehuman race--a law connected with the essentially domestic character offemale life. " There is a larger admixture of error in the foregoingrepresentation, than is usual with this deep and original thinker onsocial ethics. It is true that differences increase with the progressof society; it is also true that similarity increases. There is botha minuter subdivision of functions, and a wider freedom of choice inthe selection of their functions by individuals. In the rudest state, the relative condition and mode of life of whole classes are rigidlyfixed by their birth or by arbitrary violence. As science and art aredeveloped, and wealth accumulated, the varieties of industry and ofsocial rank are largely multiplied; liberty of choice is extended, and facility of change is increased. Once there was a royal caste, apriestly caste, a warrior caste, a servile caste; determined byblood, and unalterable. These invidious castes are now, for the mostpart, broken down, and their several functions comparatively open toall who, observing the conditions, choose to fulfil them. The mostprevalent and obstinate of caste distinctions is that of sex; themonopoly by man of public action, power, and honor; the exclusion ofone-half of our race from what men regard as the highest socialprerogatives, an exclusion which was no deliberate act, but a naturalresult of historic causes. Dr. Hedge says, with the clear vigorcharacteristic of his admirable mind, "As to the charge of exclusion, I think it would be quite as correct to say that women have combinedto exclude men from the kitchen, the laundry, the nursery, as thatmen have combined to exclude women from the army or the navy, or thebar or the pulpit, or the broker's board. I suppose the assignment ofeither sex to the class of occupations which society, as nowconstituted, respectively devolves upon them came about in thebeginning as naturally as the difference in costume which has alwaysdivided male and female. A sense of fitness, of natural affinity, determined each in its several way. There was no compulsion of theweaker by the stronger, and no formal allotment. Each following itsown instincts arrived where it is. A tacit agreement settled thispoint as it has so many others of the social economy. Nor would anydiscontent with the present arrangement have arisen; had the familylife kept pace with the growth of society. " This exclusive usurpationof the public life by man--or rather, as we should say, this naturaldevelopment and division--so organized by immemorial usage as to havebecome a second nature in both parties, is at last beginning toreveal its injustice, and to give way. In savage life, woman islittle more than a bearer of burdens, a slave, and a drudge; ascoarse as man, and lower in rank and treatment. The man fishes, hunts, fights, plays, rests; putting every repulsive task exclusivelyon the woman. It is the brute right of the stronger, which veryslowly yields to the refining influence of reflective sympathy. 

With each successive advance of society, it is not true that thedistinction of sex becomes more definite and more important; but itis true that the distinctive feeling of men towards women becomesless a feeling of scorn and authority--more a feeling of deference andhomage. Woman is as distinct from man in the grossest barbarism as inthe finest civility: only, in that, she is the degraded servant ofhis senses; in this, the honored companion of his soul. If, with theprogress of society, the sphere of feminine life becomes moredomestic, inward, individual, so also does that of man. His ideallife constantly encroaches more on his active life; his physicalenergies become less predominant, and his moral sympathies stronger. Woman begins by being totally distinct from man in personality andestate, totally subjected to him in service. She goes on, with theimprovement of civilization, to be ever freer from his authority, nearer his equal in status, more closely blended with him inpersonality and moral pursuits. They are not master and servant; butequals, responsible to one another for mutual perfection, eachresponsible to God for personal perfection. While, therefore, toefface the intrinsic characteristics of the sexes would undoubtedlybe a retrograde step, it is an impossible step, which no one proposesto take. It is proposed merely to efface those factitiouscharacteristics, whose removal will clear away barriers and securethe more rapid improvement of all, by blending their culture, theirliberty, and their worship--showing us men and women as equal units ofhumanity in its personal ends, but dependent co-adjutors in itssocial means. 

The common destiny of a woman, as a representative of humanity, isthe same as that of a man; namely, the perfect development of herbeing in the knowledge of truth, and in the practice of virtue andpiety. Her peculiar destiny is wifehood and maternity. But if shedeclines this peculiar destiny of her sex, or it is denied her, stillher common human destiny remains unforfeited; and she has as clear aright to the unrestricted use of every means of fulfilling it as shecould have if she were a man. 

The good wife and mother fulfils a beautiful and a sublime office--thefittest and the happiest office she can fulfil. If her domestic caresoccupy and satisfy her faculties, it is a fortunate adjustment; andit is right that her husband should relieve her of the duty ofproviding for her subsistence. But what shall be said of thosemillions of women who are not wives and mothers; who have no adequatedomestic life--no genial private occupation or support?

Multitudes of women have too much self respect to be desirous ofbeing supported in idleness by men; too much genius and ambition tobe content with spending their lives in trifles; and too muchdevotedness not to burn to be doing their share in the relief ofhumanity, the work and progress of the world. If these were all happywives and mothers, that might be best. But denied that function, andbeing what they are, why should not all the provinces of public laborand usefullness, which they are capable of occupying, be freely opento them? What else is it save prejudice that applauds a woman dancinga ballet or performing an opera, but shrinks with disgust from onedelivering an oration, preaching a sermon, or casting a vote? Why isit less womanly to prescribe as a physician than to tend as a nurse?If a woman have a calling to medicine, divinity, law, literature, art, instruction, trade, or honorable handicraft, it is hard to seeany reason why she should not have a fair chance of pursuing it. 

Of course, such must ever be the exceptional callings of women; butin proportion as those not otherwise more satisfactorily employedenter into them, we must believe that the burden on men, instead ofbeing aggravated by the new competition, will be shared, and thuslightened, and the best interests of society receive impulse. Is itnot, then, a sound claim which demands for women a full initiationinto all the noble realms and interests of humanity? Slavery andignorance engender worse vices and more hopeless degradation than canresult from the exposures of freedom and knowledge. Besides, freedomand knowledge are the guides to every form of nobleness. They alonecan fit women truly to exert their most sacred prerogatives. Thosewho have enjoyed the best means of knowing the truth say, that theHarems of the East are the hot-beds of every wicked quality whoseseeds slumber in the heart of woman. Surrounded by rivals;incessantly watched by those cunning and merciless monsters, theeunuchs; knowing nothing of science, art, literature, or industry--they must be devoured by animal passion, by love of intrigue anddeception, by jealousy, envy, and hatred. The true remedy for themelancholy stagnation or the frightful effervescence of theirexistence is not indeed to call them forth into a contest with menfor the notice of society and the prizes of the world; but to givethem their liberty, remanding them to their own consciences and thesocial sanctions of the great laws of right and wrong, to educatethem to the highest point in every department of knowledge andsentiment, and to throw open to them the boundless field of privateand public moral influence, with a fair chance for the achievement ofhappiness. 

Therefore, while as perfect an education, and as absolute a liberty, are claimed for women as for men, they are to be adjured to rememberthat their conscious aims should be wisdom, goodness, spiritualforce, delicacy, and harmony, with the consequent moral influence andcontentment; and not the trophies of power, or the publicities offame. And precisely the same duty holds with regard to men. 

The effort to attain the highest graces of character, instead ofplunging recklessly into the selfish ways of the world, is as trulyobligatory for man as for woman. 

Brazen impudence, unprincipled greed, ignorance, cruelty, are vicesin him too; modesty, patience, obedience, cleanliness, andaspiration, are virtues in him too. If those vices were to receive anew development, these virtues a new check, by setting before womenthe higher industries and prizes of society, it would be an immenseevil. But is it not probable that such a course will do more toelevate than to degrade, by a larger diffusion of the moralstimulants and restraints of life more closely assimilating the sexesin their diversity, interchanging their respective traits for mutualadvantage, and speeding them forward in the common race? The two mostpronounced feminine characteristics are tenderness and purity;masculine, courage and knowledge. Humanity will not be perfected, either in individual character or social destiny, by the greaterseparate enhancement of these in the sexes, but only by theirbalanced diffusion in both, making the women wise and courageous, themen tender and pure. 

It is necessary to see more clearly the grounds on which women, as aclass, have hitherto been excluded from public activity andauthority, in order properly to understand the justice or theinjustice of that exclusion. And, in studying the origin of customsand opinions now prevalent, it is as much our right to do it withfreedom, as it is our duty to do it with reverence. Many personsforget that the highest question is, what ought to be? and not, Whathas been or is? Usages frequently endure after their utility hasceased, after their propriety has gone. The true ideal of humanconduct is not to be seen in the imperfections of the past, but to beconstructed from the perfections of the future. The fact that a thinghas always been, is an historic justification of it for bygone time, but not a moral justification of it for coming time. This requiresintrinsic and enduring reasons--reasons of right and use. While theexclusion of women from public life has been natural in the agesbehind us, it is a distinct inquiry whether such an exclusion beeither obligatory or expedient now. 

History demonstrates that the male sex has greater muscular strength, with its natural accompaniments, than the female. The moredifferentiated and largely supplied nervous structure, connected withthe offices of maternity, detracts so much from the amount of forcefurnished for the muscles and the will. In the rudeness of theprimitive state, it is an unavoidable result of the superior muscularpower of man that woman is his subject. But the more pronouncednervous system of woman gives her certain spiritual advantages. Hergreater sensibility, her greater seclusion, with its relativestimulus of solitude and meditation; the closer endearments ofmaternity--develop her affections in a higher degree than his. Hencearises a tendency to refinement, elevation, influence, on her part--atendency, to which, in proportion to his moral susceptibility, heresponds with sympathy, respect, and veneration. Every step of socialprogress has been marked by a softening of the tyranny of man and alifting of the position of woman--an approximation towards an equalcompanionship. First the tool of his will, next the toy of hispleasure, then the minister of his vanity, she is at last to becomethe free sharer of his life, the friend of his mind and heart. In thefirst of these stages, no question of right was consciously raised:the brute preponderance of strength decided all. In the last stage, there will be no question in debate, no exercise of executiveauthority on either side; all being settled by a spontaneous harmonyof privileges and renunciations on both sides. But in theintermediate stages, covering the whole historic period thus far, manhas sought to justify himself in monopolizing authority. 

The first argument of the master was the argument, prompted by theunneutralized selfish instincts, that the mere possession of power torule, gives the right to rule. Muscular superiority is, by intrinsicfitness and necessity, divinely installed to reign. Woman, as "theweaker vessel, " must obey. Such a mode of thought was unavoidable, and had its legitimate ages of sway. But no moralist would dream ofadopting it, after the conscience has advanced to the stage ofgeneral principles, has risen into the region of disinterestedsympathy or justice. No one would now consciously employ thisargument to maintain the subjection of women; yet in multitudes, below the stratum of their conscious thoughts, it blindly upholdsthat subjection. A single consideration is enough to show the logicalabsurdity of the assumption. If men are entitled to the exclusiveenjoyment of political privileges, simply because they have morephysical might, then, by the same principle, among men themselves, the weak should be subject to the strong. But the very purpose oflaw, the moral essence of civilization, is to rectify the naturaldomination of strength, and bring all before a common standard. 

The argument from intellectual inferiority is as vacant as that frommuscular inferiority. In the first place, it is an open questionwhether women, as a whole, are inferior in mind to men. Manyintelligent judges firmly believe, that, taken as a whole, they aresuperior. Cornelius Agrippa wrote a book in 1509, entitled "TheNobility of the Female Sex, and the Superiority of Woman over Man. "Lucretia Marinella published a book at Venice, in 1601, undertakingto prove the superiority of her sex to the other. A book entitled "LaFemme Genereuse, " an attempt to demonstrate "that the women are morenoble, more polite, more courageous, more knowing, more virtuous, andbetter managers than the men, " was published at Paris, in 1643. Madame Guillaume also published at Paris, in 1665, a work called "LesDames Illustres, " devoted to the proof of the proposition that thefemale sex surpasses the masculine in all kinds of valuablequalifications. Mrs. Farnham devotes her book "Woman and her Era, "published in New York in 1864, to the support of the same thesis, with new arguments and illustrations. That woman is intellectuallysuperior to man, was likewise the opinion of Schopenhauer, anexceedingly strong and independent thinker. The supreme examples ofgenius have indeed been furnished by men; but this is no disproof ofthe opinion, that the average height and quickness of femininementality are above the masculine average. 

Granting, however, that women have less spiritual force than men, they certainly have greater fineness. Their smaller volume of poweris compensated by their greater delicacy and tact, their moresensitive moral capacity: the power of self-sacrifice is surelyhigher than the power of self-assertion. The examples of queens, fromSemiramis to Domna, from Zenobia to Catherine; of philosophers andscholars, like Theano, Hypatia, and Olympia Morata; of founders oforders and institutions, organizers and leaders of great enterprises, like Clara and Chantal; of actresses, like Siddons; of singers, likeMalibran; of scientists, like Somerville; of heroines, like CharlotteCorday and Joan of Arc; of mystic prophetesses, like Kriidener; ofreligious thinkers, like Sarah Hennell; of novelists, like MadameDudevant and Marian Evans; of artists, teachers, martyrs, saints--ahost whose faces shine on us out of history, have abundantlyvindicated for their sex, so far as force of will, intellect, imagination, and passion is concerned, the right of eminent domain inthe whole empire of human experience. Besides, admitting the courage, knowledge, skill, and energy of average men to be greater than thoseof average women, the difference in their respective opportunitiesand training would go far towards explaining it. Women, as a class, have been excluded from a thousand lists and stimulants, under whoseinfluences men have been sedulously educated. And, finally, even ifwe confess the hopeless inferiority of woman to man in some of thehighest departments of action, that is no reason for denying her thechance to go as far as she can. If her mental victories must be lowerand narrower than his, still she should enjoy the stimulus of thestruggle, as one means of aiding the fulfilment of her human destiny. Because one can do more than another, shall he compel the other to donothing?

When the untenableness of muscular or mental power, as a ground forholding women in an inferior position, becomes obvious, the nextsupport man conceives for his exclusive appropriation of authority, is the belief that he is exclusively the representative andvicegerent of God on earth; that woman is placed in subordination tohim by the direct command of God. In the Hindu law we read, "Thehusband of a woman is her deity;" and in the Ramayana, "A husband isthe god of his consort. " The New Testament says, "Man is the head ofthe woman, but the head of the man is God;" "Man is the glory of God, but woman is the glory of man. For the man is not of the woman, butthe woman of the man. " The Apostle likewise declares, "I suffer not awoman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be insilence. For Adam was first formed, then Eve. " This position of theApostle was based on the Hebrew account of the creation of the firstwoman from the rib of the first man, and of the sentence of God uponher in consequence of her sin in eating the apple: "Thou shalt besubject to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee. " Few personshave a conception of the extent to which this representation hasmoulded the opinions and feelings of the Christian world. The originof the view is obvious: the desire of the stronger for homage, andthe willingness of the weaker to reflect that desire in theirconduct. Is it a sound view? or is it a fallacy and a superstition?or is it a mixture of truth and error?

For those who believe in the infallibility of every word ofScripture, the subject is taken out of the province of naturalreason, conscience, and expediency; and there is nothing to be said. They hold by the current tradition as the explicit will of God. But, at the present day, there is an increasing proportion of persons wholook on the Hebrew narrative of the origin and earliest experience ofour race in the garden of Eden, as a legend, similar to kindrednarratives in other literatures. They are led, by teachings ofphilosophy and science which they cannot resist, to the conclusion, that the Almighty did not produce the human species by an arbitraryand wholly exceptional interposition; but created them just as he didthe other species--through a law of development. It seems to themincredible, that man and woman were made separately, in succession, the latter exclusively for the former. They are obliged to supposethat man and woman were created simultaneously--the differentiation ofsex having gone on in the lower types for incomputable ages, causinghumanity to appear in its earliest rise as male and female. So, instead of saying, "The man was not made for the woman, but the womanfor the man, " they would affirm, "The man and the woman were equallymade for each other, to advance hand in hand to perfection. " Thosewho assume this scientific point of view, will see that the questionof the rights of woman, and her true relation to man, is to bedecided purely by a philosophical mastery of the expediency andinexpediency, the essential right and wrong, in the facts of thecase. The question of the eligibility of woman to public life andpolitical prerogatives has nothing to do with her comparativepersonal weakness; nothing to do with any supposed rule, given in anancient revelation; nothing to do with any supposition that man wasthe first to be created and the second to sin, woman the second to becreated and the first to sin. Did priority of creation conferauthority to govern, then man should obey the lower animals; for theywere made before he was. Even Apostolic logic sometimes limps. Thequestion can be understood only by a correct perception of the willof God, as indicated in the nature and destiny of progressivehumanity composed of male and female. 

What, then, is the will of God, so indicated? Regarded as the twohalves of humanity, men and women are alike and equal. Theirunlikeness, when regarded as male and female, cannot destroy thisprimary and fundamental equality, or vitiate any of the rights itinvolves. Consequently, whatever belongs to humanity proper, belongsequally to men and to women. Woman has an equal claim with man toevery thing permanently connected with the fulfilment of the humandestiny; that is, the full and harmonious exercise of the facultiesof human nature. The division into male and female, affecting nottheir equality of rights, merely gives special fitnesses and dutiesto each. Unquestionably, the higher nervous development and maternaloffices of woman relatively fit her for tenderness and domesticity:the coarser muscular development and adventurousness of manrelatively fit him for hardihood and publicity. But this can furnishno ground for subjecting one, and enthroning the other. It is areason for their equal co-operation in assimilating each other's bestqualities for their mutual and common perfection. Every thing that isgood should be granted to both: whatever is evil should not be soughtby either. 

The true social desideratum at last is, not that women, equally withmen, assume the exercise of authority; but that men, equally withwomen, forego the exercise of authority. The genuine perfection ofhumanity, instead of being the enforced obedience of one half to theother half, is the spontaneous obedience of both halves to the law ofGod. The incomplete statement of Paul, "I suffer not a woman to usurpauthority, " is supplemented by the far deeper word of Christ, "Yeknow that the princes of the Gentiles exercise dominion over them, and they that are great exercise authority upon them. But it shallnot be so among you: whosoever will be great among you, let him beyour minister; and whosoever will be chief among you, let him be yourservant. " This is the ideal of the future--that man shall no more haveauthority to command than woman, everybody doing right voluntarily, under the intrinsic sway of morality. Politics is the reign of forceby legislative sanctions: morality is the reign of affection bysocial sanctions. The latter is pre-eminently the sphere of woman. Isit her sole sphere, or is she also called to enter the other sphere?

One thing is clear; namely, that it is unjust for the laws todiscriminate against women on account of their actual exclusion frompolitical power. They ought to have the same legal rights as men toearn, hold, and control property. Since they have the same interestas man in the laws they live under, they are entitled, in some way, either by their own voice or through others, to the sameconsideration in the framing and execution of those laws. 

Shall we go still further, and say that they ought to take an equalpart with men in the caucus, at the ballot-box, in the senate, at thebar, on the bench, and elsewhere? If universal suffrage be the truetheory of government, then, logically, women are entitled to vote;because they, equally with men, represent humanity. Every asserteddisqualification, on the ground of ignorance or preoccupation, issophistical; because the same plea would disqualify four-fifths ofthe men too. If a government of all by all be the true theory, it isa wrong to exclude women. If they are not fully qualified, they oughtto become qualified; and the only way to qualify them is to confesstheir claim and begin their education. Either all should vote, ormerely those who are fitted: if merely those who are fitted, thenthousands of men would be shut out, thousands of women admitted. 

The plea for the admission of women to political activity is oftenmet by the assertion, that they do not themselves wish it; that thebest women revolt with profound distaste from every thing of thesort. But is this distaste a veracious instinct? or is it aprejudice, owing to the ideal of feminine character and life, whichthey have been educated to admire? Men have coveted a monopoly ofexecutive power, and held up passive obedience as the fittest type ofwomanliness. Women, as a general rule, partake the prejudices, andlike to flatter the vanity, of the stronger sex. The question is not, What do women desire? but, What ought they to desire? What is rightand best for them? The question must not be decided by any thingextrinsic or accidental, any prejudices or fortuitous associations. 

Every measure of intrinsic justice should be sustained despite of theincidental evils which may be feared. The opinion that women would bedemoralized by voting, is no reason for withholding that right fromthem, if it be a right. To become egotistic, clamorous, corrupt, andbrazen, is not a necessary accompaniment of political life; but isthe personal fault of those who become so, and just as much a vice inmen as in women, just as good a reason for recalling those from theballot-box, as for withholding these. There is no incompatibilitybetween the different realms of duty or of privilege. 

What would be the effect of female voting? The physical womanlinessof woman essentially consists in wifehood and maternity. This, ofcourse, cannot be changed by any enlargement of her domain ofinterests and activities. Her moral womanliness consists in modestyand self-denial, the preponderance of disinterestedness over egotism. Now, is there any real likelihood that the assumption by women of theelective franchise, with its accompaniments, will destroy this typeof womanhood, universally acknowledged as the ideal of womanly beautyand excellence? Is it not too well established in the authority ofthe most cultivated souls, to be so easily shaken? It is the truetype, which, developed out of the historic progress in socialconditions, cannot be lost, but must be more confirmed and glorifiedby the continued action, in the future, of the same causes which havealready produced it. Not the destruction of the most exalted moraltype of feminine character, rather its extension to masculinecharacter, is what is to be looked for in the changes of the future. The greater the number of types of character exhibited to the public, and the greater the facility of comparison between them, the moresharply defined, and the more clearly recognized, will the best onebe. Will not a pure and noble woman, eminently fitted by her wisdomand virtues for social influence, entering the political arena, setan example there, adapted to make men revere her, assimilate to her, and become themselves more modest, self-sacrificing, andincorruptible? On the other hand, when she is unfitted and unworthy, will not the reflection, in her, of their own vices of exasperatedrivalry, pride, and tyranny, appear doubly detestable? Then theideal, so far from being injured, would rather be improved--manlyresponsibilities making the women less timid and foolish, contactwith womanly sentiment making the men less coarse and reckless. Howwell this conclusion is sustained by sound probabilities, deserves tobe carefully weighed. No one should dogmatize on it. 

In determining how far, if at all, women had best enter into thesphere of public life, and take part in the functions of government, there remains another consideration, which will be decisive with manyminds. It is drawn from the difference between those things which arein themselves good, and therefore enduring parts of human life, andthose things which are merely provisional means to good--meansnecessitated by existing evils, but destined gradually to lessen, andfinally to pass away. Were political government an intrinsic andpermanent end, an essential good of humanity, all, or at least allwho are qualified, should share in it; because every human being hasa right to a portion in every thing which is indispensable to thecompletion of the human destiny. Liberty, culture, and work areintrinsic and eternal elements of the human lot: women, therefore, have as clear a claim to these as men. But government is not a goodin itself, is not an end. It is an evil attendant on humanwickedness, a means devised to prevent severer evils; an element ofdecreasing proportions and of temporary duration. It is an artificewhich we wish to see lessen as fast as is safe, and to disappear assoon as is possible. 

Take the example of war. War is an evil, a transient incident in thefortunes of humanity; therefore the fewer who take part in it, thebetter. Women, being out of it, had best keep out of it. No onedesires to have women become soldiers. Mental and physical laborwill, as long as the world lasts, be a necessary part of theexperience of humanity; therefore men and women properly have a jointheritage in its exactions and its privileges. But government is apassing phase in the evolution of the social system: when men areperfected, it will vanish in spontaneous obedience. War or crudeviolence universally governed in the primitive society. Little bylittle, this barbaric reign of force was encroached upon andsuperseded by politics, the forms of statesmanship and legislation. Then, little by little, the realm and rule of politics began toshrink before the increasing sway of conscience, reason, andsympathy, the personal law of justice and love, the intrinsic motivesappropriated by the private heart from society and religion. As warhas been narrowing and receding before politics, politics in turnmust narrow and recede before morality. The less need a nation has ofgovernmental interference for the securing of justice, the better offthat nation is. The smaller the number of persons engaged in workingthat political mechanism, which is never productive, but merelyregulative, the better it would seem to be for the people. We do notdesire ever to see a woman occupy the office of a hangman, nor of aprosecuting attorney, nor yet of an electioneering politician;because, these being transient accompaniments of an imperfectsociety, the desideratum is to have concentrated on them the interestand energy of the smallest number competent to secure the needfulresults of order. He who believes that a universal devotion topolitics would most speedily achieve the end of politics, namely, thesupersedure of its whole machinery by the arrival at a self-rectifying observance of the conditions of private and publicwelfare--must advocate the bestowment of legislative and other publicfunctions on women. Let all take part in voting and governing, forthe sake of more quickly reaching the time when none shall vote orgovern, but every one be a law unto himself. On the contrary, he whobelieves that a universal rush into public life, forensiccontroversy, party and personal rivalry, would exasperate theinterest, and prolong the dominion, of politics, must earnestlyrecommend women to abstain from the struggle. Whatever logical rightthey may have, he will think it best that they abandon that right, and devote their zeal to the sphere of morality, whose elements arethe eternal concern of all humankind. A wider outbreak of plots andcabals, an enlargement of the chase for notoriety and the scramblefor office, a more virulent division of neighbors and of families, anew lease for the spirit of ambition and partisanship, would be anevil of the deadliest fatality. Being out of politics, which is thetransient sphere of some, is it not best that woman keep out of it, and devote herself to morality, which is the permanent sphere of all?Here is furnished an honorable ground on which she may be, not shutout of, but excused from, the province of government. 

What is the ideal of perfect society? Is it a state where there is auniversal contention for notice, power, and honor? Then let womenenter that contest now. Is it a state where each is content with thepersonal fruition of his own powers, in harmony with the sameenjoyment by all others? Then let women, by setting such an exampleof abstinence from the public realm of politics, draw men also totheir true happiness, in "the realm of home and morals. "

Turning from the authority of history to the authority of moralscience, there is no reason for the enslavement of woman to man. Thisis not yet fully seen, because the historic type of woman as puresubject, of man as pure sovereign, has sunk so deeply into theimagination of both sexes. The Gentoo Code declared, "A woman oughtto burn herself alive on the funeral pyre of her husband. " Body andsoul, she was a mere appendage to him. The Mosaic Code declared awoman unclean eighty days after bearing a female child, but onlyforty days after bearing a male child. One of the laws of Solonforbade the Greek fathers and brothers from selling their daughtersand sisters as slaves; showing that such an infamous custom had beenprevalent. The passage of thousands of years had brought a degree ofphysical emancipation to woman; but she still remained mentallyservile, when Catharine Parr said to her husband, Henry VII, "Yourmajesty doth know right well, neither I myself am ignorant, whatgreat imperfection, by our first creation, is allotted to us women, to be appointed as inferior and subject unto man as our head; andthat, as God made man in his own likeness, even so hath he made womanof man, by whom she is to be governed. " This type of unquestioningsubjection and obedience is depicted by Chaucer, after Boccaccio, inhis "Griselda, " and by Tennyson in his "Enid. " The husbands of thesemost lovely and womanly of women try their temper, and theirsubjectedness, by the most capricious, and the most cruel, tests. They submit to every thing with unmurmuring sweetness and humility. The true lesson of these charming stories is, that an inexhaustibleself-abnegation and obedience forms the most heavenly trait and powerof human nature. But it is a perversion to limit the application towoman. Moral excellence is the same in man as in woman. It is anoutrage to make that meek submission to wrong, which shows sodivinely in her, a duty; and it is equally an outrage to make thatautocratic authority of man over woman, which he so complacentlyassumes, a right. The progressive emancipation of woman, revealed inhistory, will go on until she ceases to be, in any sense, "a mereappendage of man, " and they become mutually as independent as theyare mutually dependent. 

It is very curious to study the extremes of dishonor and of honor, inwhich women, as such, have been held, at different periods, undervarious social conditions. In the Oriental world, in consequence ofthe character fostered in them by despotism, they have always beenregarded by men with complacent condescension as toys, or withdistrust and scorn as vicious inferiors. In the Classic world, theywere always treated as far inferior to the other sex, and held up inliterature in the most odious light. Euripides was surnamed thewoman-hater, from the scorn with which he depicts the sex. Thecomedies of Aristophanes are mercilessly sarcastic, in theirportrayals of women: his "Ecclesia" might be taken for a freshlypainted ironical picture of the "Woman's-rights Movement" of to-day. And what a frightful picture of the Roman women Juvenal paints in his"Sixth Satire "! In the Christian world, the pagan type of woman, thought of as lower and wickeder than man, bore, for a long period, an aggravated form, imparted by an intense theological dogma. Thetheologians taught that woman--by the seduction of Adam and theintroduction of original sin, which led to the crucifixion of Christ--was the guiltiest and worst of human beings, the Temptress of Man andthe Murderess of God. Hear how Tertullian raged against her: "Sheshould always be veiled, clothed in mourning and in rags; that theeye may see in her a penitent, drowned in tears, and atoning for thesin of having ruined the human race. Woman! thou art the gateway ofSatan. "

The condition of women in the East has been unfavorably affected bypolygamy, despotism, stagnant ignorance, their close confinement, andthe profound sensual element in their religion. Yet there areexceptions to the rule there as well as elsewhere. It was a woman whorecited the "Arabian Nights' Entertainments" to the Sultan. Orientalliterature boasts many shining names of women. We have a pleasingintroduction to some of them in Garcia de Tassy's essay on "TheFemale Poets of India. " Ruckert's "Hamiisa, " a collection of Arabicpoetry, contains specimens from fifty-five female poets of Arabia. The genius of the Mohammedan saint, Rabia, has been given to fame byher wonderful sayings, translated into many modern tongues. In spiteof these examples, however, the superiority of the condition ofWestern women over Eastern is not only incontestable, but, as awhole, incomparable. 

The difference of the character of Jesus from that of Mohammed, andthe difference of the spirit which they showed in their personalrelations with women, would legitimate just the difference nowexisting in the condition of women, respectively in Christian andMohammedan lands. Passing over other more notorious incidents, oneanecdote will illustrate this statement. After the battle of Bedr, aJewess of Medina, named Asma, wrote some satirical couplets againstMohammed. Omeir, at dead of night, instigated by the prophet, creptinto the apartment where Asma, surrounded by her children, layasleep. Feeling stealthily with his hand, he removed her infant fromher breast, and plunged his sword into her bosom with such force thatit went through her back. The next morning, at prayers in the Mosque, Mohammed said, "Hast thou slain the daughter of Marwan?" "Yes; but isthere cause of fear for what I have done?" The implacable prophetreplied, "None whatever: two goats will not knock their headstogether for it. "

Lamartine says of the Armenians, with whom he was intimate atDamascus, "I could not turn my eyes from these beautiful and gracefulwomen. Our visits and conversations were everywhere prolonged; and Ifound them as amiable as they were lovely. The customs of Europe, thedress and ways of the women of the West, were our chief topics. Theydid not seem to envy the lives of our women; and, on observing thegrace, the amiability, the simplicity, the serenity of mind and heartwhich they preserved in the seclusion of their domestic life, itwould be difficult to say what they could envy in our women of theworld, who, in the turmoil of society, waste in a few years theirbeauty, their minds, and their health. " And yet, allowing the utmostfor this greater calm and contentment, our women would lose a boon, standing quite alone in its immense value, if they were to give upthat liberty which is so fast gaining them a full share in every realprivilege enjoyed by men. Christian women mingle on equal terms inour social, literary, patriotic, and religious festivals. Hindu orMohammedan ladies are condemned merely to look in, through windowsgrated with bamboo slats, on the preaching of the priests, and on thebanquets of their husbands. Perhaps our ignorance as to the facts, and our prejudices as to the principle, exaggerate the actual evilsof polygamy in Asia. The most trustworthy travellers there testifythat not one man in ten can afford to maintain more than one wife;and that not one in ten, of those who can afford it, will venture onthe trial, if they have a child by the first. Besides, the dreadfulmortality of wives in many parts of America--owing to excessive worry, household drudgery, and rapid child-bearing--amounts to polygamy, onlyit is successive instead of simultaneous. 

But one privilege European and American women have, which they cannoteasily over-estimate; namely, their exemption from the irresponsibledespotism still exercised over a majority of their sisters. The wholeforce of public opinion and of civil law is pledged for theirprotection. In his travels in Khasmir, published in 1844, Vignerelates this horrid incident, which happened within his ownknowledge. Mihan Singh, governor of Kabul, had a favorite wife, themother of his only son, who was accused of an intrigue. Her son, fearing the worst, dashed his turban on the ground before his father--the most imploring act an Oriental can use--and knelt, bareheaded, athis feet. But the enraged husband was inexorable, and caused hishapless wife to be baked alive. What a breadth of progress separatesus from the state of society in which such a deed could be doneopenly, and without illegality, by a ruler! Can any woman be toograteful that she stands on this side of that breadth instead of onthe other side? It is to be feared that her sex is not always mindfulenough of the duty of those who are free to be bravely sincere andtrue. Deceit is proper to the slave. Liberty imposes frankness. TheAsiatic woman carefully covers her face, but leaves her legs naked, and considers her European sister shameless in reversing this custom, There are, however, more impenetrable veils than those outwardly puton. When we compare the simplicity of the primitive ages of the Eastwith the guileful art and hardened worldliness of the fashionablesociety of the West, we are tempted to think, that the more woman hasbared her face, the more she has masked her mind. 

Truth requires us to qualify the view of the social condition ofwomen which we derive from the comic poets, from the later Greekwriters in general, and from the biting epigrams on women preservedin the Greek Anthology. That qualification may be drawn from thehistory of Sappho. The consenting conclusions of the best criticalscholars of recent times--as may be seen in such works as Smith's"Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography" and Miller's "Literature ofAncient Greece, "--have cleared her name from the foul aspersionsthrown on it by the authors of a subsequent age, who interpreted herlife and works by the unclean standards of their own. "Not a line inher fragments, rightly understood, can cast a cloud on her fairfame. " In her time, sensual and sentimental love were not distinctlyseparated; and she expressed her passionate but pure sentiments witha simple freedom and fervor afterwards grossly misconceived. It is toa friend of her own sex that Sappho writes, "Equal to the gods seemsto me the man who sits opposite to thee, and watches thy sweet mouthand charming smile. While I look at thee, my heart loses its force, my tongue ceases to speak, a subtile fire glides through my veins, and a rushing sound fills my ears. " This mixture of feelings, thiscarrying on of friendships between men, or between women, in thelanguage of passionate love, without the implication of any thingcorrupt, was a feature of the Greek character, unknown to nations ofa poorer and colder temperament. It seems, as is set forth by Miller, in the fourth book of his "Dorians, " that, in Lesbos, and some otherparts of Greece, female societies were formed, each under the lead ofsome woman of distinguished genius, for the cultivation of poesy, music, refinement and grace of manners, and the other elegant arts. Girls were sent from distant cities, and even from foreign lands, tobe educated in these societies. Sappho was the head of one of them. She calls her house, "The House of the Servant of the Muses. " Sheformed ardent friendships with many of her pupils. It is thesefriendships which she celebrates in most of her poems. They revealthe varied, affectionate intercourse sometimes known by the women ofclassic Greece in their private apartments. The fragments which havereached our day preserve, as the names of the choicest friends ofSappho, Telesilla, Megara, Athis, Mnasidica; Anactoria, of Miletus;Gongyla, of Colophon; Eunica, of Salamis; and Damophila, ofPamphylia. The animosity of her allusions to her rivals, Gorgo andAndromeda, shows that she could hate as vigorously as she loved, andreminds us of the title of Middleton's tragedy, "Women, bewareWomen!"

In the world of modern civilization, the tendency is in the oppositedirection from that of the Oriental, Classic, and early Christianworlds. It expresses reverence for woman as a moral superior. But thechivalrous impulse to exalt woman above man is as mistaken as theimpulse to degrade her beneath him. Humanity is worshipful only as itexhibits worshipful attributes; and these attributes have the samerank, wherever they appear. A woman deserves to be honored above aman only as she has more than he of the highest qualities ofhumanity. The moment she demands precedence, the crown crumbles fromher brows in fragments of dark decay. This lesson is finely taught inthe ancient Hindu epic, the "Mahilbhiirata. " As Radhika walked withKrishna, her soul was elated with pride, and she thought herselfbetter than he; and she said, "O my beloved! I am weary, and I prayyou to carry me upon your shoulders. " Krishna sat down and smiled, and beckoned to her to mount. But, when she stretched forth her hand, he vanished from her sight; and she remained alone, with outstretchedhand. Then Radhika wept bitterly. 

The superiority ascribed to woman by fine minds in our era--a traitconspicuous, when we look from Tibullus to Frauenlob, from Pindar toPatmore--is often supposed to be her due, on account of some qualityinherent in her mere femineity. It should be seen to be a consequenceof the purer representation of goodness in her, by virtue of herpersonal renunciation of the struggle for precedence. Her mission isto set the example, and diffuse the spirit, of contented goodness--goodness contenting itself with the universal growth of goodness. Inwhat way can she ever fulfil this mission, except by attracting manlikewise to withdraw from the selfish battle for social distinction, and devote himself to the private attainment of personal perfection, and the public benefaction of his race? The chivalric transference ofauthority from man to woman is a striking instance of the propensityof human nature to oscillate from one extreme to the other. 

Some of the champions of the "rights of women, " in our day, apparently commit the error of inverting the real desideratum, whichis, to make men renounce and love like the finest women--not to makewomen exact and fight like the coarsest men. They act as if theythought men were both better and better off than women, and were tobe taken as models by them. But our hope lies in the saint, not inthe amazon. Woman, as seen in the Mary who sat at the feet of Christ, brings a heavenly ministration to rescue man from every thingdiscordant: woman, as seen in the Penthesilea who fought Achilles, offers man but a perverted reflection of himself. 

The common belief, that human life began in a paradisal state, is asentimental and mischievous error. The cradles of civilization arefull of murder. First, for a period of unknown duration, raged thestrife for precedence in physical power and its grossest symbols. Incivilized nations, this strife is now, for the most part, reduced toboys and pugilists, who are always eager to try each other'sstrength, and to crow above a thrown antagonist. Next came the strifefor precedence in social power, and its finer symbols of rank, wealth, position, and fame. This strife may be traced in every recordof the past and present; is far more extensive, seductive, andtenacious than the former; and has been left behind, as yet, only bythe saintliest exemplars of our race. The third period, the idealperiod which we now await, is one in which there shall be no strifeamong mankind for comparative superiority over each other; but, inplace of it, a universal co-operating struggle for intrinsic personalworth, a constant advancement in gaining the real prizes of being. Then the wretched experiences of hate and jealousy, with theirthousandfold sins and pains, will rapidly lessen. There will be nomotives for envy and opposition, since the aims of men will be alike;and the gain of each, so far from being a loss to the rest, will be again to all. Let there be no strife for precedence, and all societymust be the wiser, purer, and happier for every spiritual gain madeby any member of it. Ambitious rivalry is wretchedness, and sure toend in sickening disappointment. Disinterested aspiration, equally towomen and to men, is the benign mother of happiness. 

We read in the Norse mythology, that the gods tied Loki, theimpersonation of the evil principle, to three sharp rocks, and hung asnake over him in such a way, that its venom should drip on his face. But, in this dreadful case, there was one who did not forsake him. His wife Sigyn sat close by his head, and held a bowl to catch thetorturing drops. As often as the bowl was full, she emptied it withthe utmost haste; because, during that time, the drops struck on hisface, and made him scream with agony. Her patience in holding thebowl, and her speed in emptying it, never failed. It is a forcibleemblem of the ministration of woman to man. But, for man to impose aservice of this nature on woman as her duty, is a cruel arrogance andwrong. The voluntary spirit of such a service teaches the one lessonwhich man himself needs to learn for his own salvation. 

The laborious life of a statesman, a merchant, a banker, or amechanic, is not rewarded by tender emotions, but by power, applause, or money. The heart of such a man, too often, gradually ossifies, becomes insensible to those fine and noble fruitions whichimperatively demand leisure, and a steady lucid sensibility. The harddevotions of an external utility devour the riches of theimagination, and destroy the overflow of the affections. But thewoman, who, shielded from the harsh frictions of the world, makes hersoul a pure and still mirror of every form of celestial truth andgood, may well be an inspiring prophetess for those who reverence andlove her. Such a woman is, in some degree, a living representative ofthat star-girt face of the Virgin Mary which the medieval Churchlifted into the night, and floated above the boiling nationalities ofEurope. A Poppiea drawn by mules shod with gold, five hundred asseskept to supply her with baths of milk for the softening of her skin--is the enemy--and disgrace of both sexes. The true type and glory ofthe one sex, the admiration and salvation of the other, are displayedin such an example as that of the last hours of Madame Roland, who, riding in the death-cart to the guillotine, with an infirm and agedman who was broken down with terror and grief, devoted herself withheroic benevolence to comfort and sustain him. In order to spare himthe double agony of seeing her execution previous to his own, with asublime abnegation she refused the offered privilege of being thefirst victim, soothed and supported the trembling old man, saw himperish, then calmly bared her neck to the knife. 

In one of De Tocqueville's letters to the illustrious MadameSwetchine occurs a passage marked by rare insight and weight. Thenoble writer urges that the clergy, without teaching specialpolitical doctrines, ought to instill into their hearers certaingrand sentiments and loyalties, such as the feeling that every manbelongs more to collective humanity than he does to himself. He thenadds this impressive testimony: "During my somewhat long experienceof public life, nothing has struck me more than the influence ofwomen in developing public spirit--an influence the greater becauseindirect. I do not hesitate to say, that they give to every nation amoral temperament, which is shown in its politics. A hundred times Ihave seen weak men becoming of real political value, because they hadby their side women who supported them, not by advice as toparticulars, but by fortifying their feelings, and directing theirambition. More frequently, I must confess, I have seen the domesticinfluence gradually transforming a man, naturally noble and generous, into a cowardly, commonplace, selfish office-seeker, thinking ofpublic affairs merely as a means of making himself comfortable; andthis, simply by daily contact with a well-conducted woman, a faithfulwife, an excellent mother, from whose mind the grand notion of publicduty was entirely absent. "

The hardening exposures, the gnawing jealousies, of overmuchfashionable society, with its shallow and bitter emulations, do farmore to contract and sour the spirit of woman, to falsify and depraveher heart, to belittle and spoil her mind, to degrade and veneer hercharacter, than any professional career can well be supposed to do. It cannot be doubted, that many a woman, who displays herself, asgood as naked, in brilliant drawing-room assemblies, spends half herexistence in the frivolity of crowded dinners, suppers, and balls, ismore corrupted and bronzed than she could be by studying medicine, theology, jurisprudence, or political economy, and taking a zealouspart in the affairs of her country. Let not the greater and nearerevil be neglected in a prejudiced imagination of a lesser and remoterone. Where do you find an exterior of politeness covering an interiorof indifference or guile? a flaming demonstrativeness in front of asoul of ice? a beautiful show of nobleness and happiness, with ahaggard reality of weariness and woe underneath? In the glare andfuss of society. And where do you find, purely shielded behindmanners all frost, a heart all celestial fire? under conditions ofunpretending simplicity, an experience ever fresh and serene, full ofjoy and dignity, and endlessly progressive? In those who lead livesof quiet sincerity and humility, consecrated to choice studies andchosen friends. What sweet charm or commanding grandeur or satisfyingworth can be looked for in persons, the highest palpitations of whosehearts are raised by the touches of pride, money, and vanity? Morepatience, sincerity, studious seclusion, meditative consecration, andsteady sympathy are the foremost want of our age. 

The two arts of letter-writing and conversation, invaluable both asinstruments of pleasure and of culture, seem to be dying out beforethe encroachment of innumerable trifles, absorbing amusements, tyrannical egotisms, and that pernicious flood of ephemeralliterature, whose varieties are daily spawned upon all tables. Thelong, careful letters, full of thought, full of true personalinterest and earnest general sentiment, so common two or threegenerations ago, are all but unknown now. There is no time left forthem. 

Conversation, too, has become the ghost of what it was. Where are thefamous talkers now? Where are the circles in which conversation iscarried on as the loftiest and richest of the social arts? Thesustained comparison of views, interchange and discussion ofopinions, accumulation of knowledge, argument, wit, sympathy, onthemes of intense interest and solemn import, once so common incultivated society, where all listened while each successively spoke, have given way before the telegraph, the newspaper, the pamphlet, thebook, the platform, the swift diffusion of all information and theincessant hurry of everybody. Letter-writing is an indirect exchangeof thoughts. Conversation is a personal exchange of life. The obviousdecline of the former is a great loss; the notorious decline of thelatter is a greater loss. 

There is no way in which those women who are able to give the toneand set the fashion in society, can do so much good as by endeavoringto reinstate conversation, and to teach in every company thenobleness of leisure and attention, that each one who speaks shall beinspired to the fullest training of his best powers by the listeningexpectation of the rest. No one can talk well amidst a rude jabber ofvoices, or a perpetual succession of interruptions. Subtile thought, sacred sentiment, eloquent emotion, and artistic speech, are coy:they must have the encouragement of respectful audience. Conversationbecomes the crowning art and luxury of life, the most completelysatisfying of all employments, when groups of friends regularly meet, under the rules of gracious breeding, with leisure, with confidencein each other, with no jealous ambitions, no intolerant partisanship, but with catholic purposes of improvement. Instead of such meetingsof choice friends, we now have mobs of people, drawn together byevery sort of factitious motive--crowds who crush each other'sdresses, desperately bow and smirk at each other; exchangeintolerable commonplaces, with unmeaning conventionality; affect tolisten to music, which no one can hear or would care for if he couldhear; mix all their buzzing voices in one oceanic roar; or, whenthere is room, break up into whispering knots; then charge togetherupon the supper-table, as if it were a fortress to be taken by storm, and are unspeakably relieved when the assembly is over. As company isheld in fashionable society now, the talk is not tenaciously kept toimportant themes, for ends of conviction, culture, light, or joy, butis a hodge-podge of trifles, an incoherent succession of unconsideredremarks. Each one speaks with his neighbor, regardless of all therest of the guests, as if it were an evil to be silent, or anabsurdity to expect that anybody could say any thing worth beinglistened to by all. Some one has said, with much piquancy, "Lecturesare soliloquies reared on the ruins of conversation. " Madame Molesuggestively remarks, "At the Hotel Rambouillet conversation was theall-sufficient amusement: we hear of neither cards nor music; for, wizen the habit of changing all thoughts and sentiments into wordshas become natural and easy, it offers so great a variety in itselfthat society needs no other. That form of talk alone can be calledconversation in which what we really think and feel is called out, and flows the quicker from the pleasure of seeing it excite thoughtsand feelings in others. "

Those who, now-a-days, have a reputation as good talkers are ratherdeclaimers, haranguers, orators, than conversers. Trueconversationalists seem to be nearly obsolete; because our socialgatherings, whether in the drawing-room or at the table, do notfurnish the needed conditions. To shine as a talker, one mustoverride others by sheer vociferation and monopoly, treading his wayamidst insincere applause and general dislike, over the injured self-love of every one present, to the throne of monologue. Such acondition is equally incompatible with what is best in character, inmanners, and in personal communion. 

For the revival of conversation, an improvement of character isnecessary--a purification and deepening of the interior life. It growsout of friendship and the fervor of noble interests. And to these thefickleness and thinness of soul attendant on ignorance andselfishness, as well as on miscellaneous dissipation, are fatal. 

For sparks electric only strikeOn souls electrical alike;The flash of intellect expiresUnless it meet congenial fires. 

There can be no deep and enduring union of human beings withouttruthfullness, earnestness, aspiration. It is glorious for people tomeet who ascend to meet. For social conquests, as well as for privatecontent, the aggrandizement of individual character and experience isthe mightiest talisman. As with the increase of esteem and confidencethe spiritual veils are lifted, one by one, the person itself charmsbecause the soul is seen, and seen to be divine. Even in thoseexamples where beauty is the hook, grace is the bait, and virtue theline, with which hearts are caught. When we see wisdom and goodnessthe guests of another's eyes, love becomes the guest of our own. Thegreat evil of an excessive devotion to society and fashion is themechanical hollowness and insincerity it breeds--an evil as fatal tohappiness as it is to virtue. Economy of force is the governingstandard with those who are too constantly in contact with the world, too much given to the spirit of crowded company and fashion. Conscientious truthfullness, earnest discrimination, and a behaviorhonestly adapted to the facts of feeling and duty, are too expensive, would quickly drain to death the fop, the self-seeker, and thecoquette. Accordingly, indifference is the shield of polite society, and affectation is the valve of artificial characters; but sincerityof soul is the first charm of manners, and extent of sympathy is theproper measure of happiness. The soul, dried and hardened by the heatand wear of crowds, or exhausted by dissipation, measures its successby how much it can exclude, how much it despises, how much it cansave; but the glory of youth, the joy of genius, the height and charmof life, is the exuberance of the expenditure of force they canafford. Their standard of success is how much their sympathies caninclude, how much they can revere and love and serve. It islittleness and misery to make a private hoard of the good of theuniverse. The amount it lavishes measures the wealth of the rich andhappy soul. That will be a blessed day when we make our socialparties not for the purpose of ostentation or luxury, not to givedinners or suppers in return for those to which we have been invited, not to secure acquaintances who will aid in gratifying our externalambition, but simply to enjoy the society of friends whom we honorand love, to enhance our interior life by sincere spiritualintercourse, the reflection of minds and hearts. Wherever humanbeings meet, the bazaar of Fate stands open. 

Another duty, closely allied with the foregoing, and especiallyincumbent on the finest and highest women, is to improve the commonstandard of good manners. This is a region of influence of momentousimportance, and for which the most honored and beloved women have apre-eminent adaptation by their beauty, grace, docility, andsympathetic ease of self-sacrifice. To associate with a quick-wittedwoman is an education. The last words of Madame Pompadour, addressedto her withdrawing confessor, just before her final breath, were, "Wait a moment, father; and we will go out together. " In a democraticage and country like ours, many causes are at work to lower theaverage standard of manners by generating universal self-assertion, arrogance, and irreverence. As compared with the gracious type ofchivalric manners exhibited in the best specimens of three or fourcenturies ago, it must be confessed that sweetness of dignity, abundance of courtesy, gentleness, magnanimity, have suffered badly. No gentle and lofty mind can turn from the reading of Digby's "BroadStone of Honor" to that of Thackeray's "Book of Snobs, " without deeppain. Here is a field of influence superlatively fitted for theactivity of women, and worthy of the aspirations of the most favoredand admirable representatives of the sex. Opinions may ascend; butmanners descend. 

The chief source of complacency to petty natures is in contemplatingthe weaknesses of their superiors. Pride nourishes itself by gazingon inferiors, and heightening the contrast. But the true habit ofvirtue is to stoop graciously, to lift inferiors towards itself, andto look reverentially on the merits of superiors, lifting itself withaspiring docility towards them. 

Among the people of the present age, there is no need of teaching thelessons of social scorn or envy; but there is need of teaching thelessons of disinterested reverence and aspiration. It must thereforebe a profitable service to hold up for the contemplation and study ofwomen the examples of the noble sway, the delightful charm exerted bysuch women as the grand Duchess Louise of Weimar, Madame Récamier, Madame Swetchine, or the Duchess of Orleans. Each one of thesedeserves the homage of being patterned after:

For she was of that better clayThat treads not oft this earthly stage:Such charmed spirits lose their way, But once or twice into an age. 

They seemed to shed dignity, wisdom, virtue, repose, and bliss aroundthem wherever they moved, and to put all persons in their debt by theboons unconsciously emitted from their being and their manners. Wecannot hold too constant or too worshipful communion with suchcharacters: it is equally a culture and an enjoyment. The secret oftheir divine skill is not flattery, but deferential treatment. Theytake for granted, that their friends have noble qualities andadmirable aims, and treat them accordingly, with a respectfulattention which heightens the self-respect of its recipients. Neglectis insolent, and contempt is injurious. He who suffers them is hurtand lowered. One blessed magic there is, as guileless as it issupreme. This charm, this witchcraft, is a sincere and honoringattention. 

Woman can more keenly than man "taste the pure enjoyment that resultsfrom the mere growth and exercise of good feelings. " Who so well asshe knows how much more true pleasure there is in one peaceful momentof modest goodness than in all the excitement that waits on the gaudygame of ambition? She is never so happy, as when doing most andasking least. 

The Duchess de Duras wrote to a friend, "Madame de Montcalm has beensick: she is eaten up by politics: they are her vulture. " To man, genius is an instrument, which he must use to achieve triumphs: towoman, it is a load, which she must transmute into blessings. Thusfar in human history, it has been much easier for the most gifted ofour race to be unhappy than to be happy; because happiness is anequilibrium of inner powers and outer conditions, and the mostextraordinary gifts are surest to destroy or prevent that adjustment. The divine remedy is self-sacrifice, self-detachment, and theattuning of the soul by the laws of the ideal world, the perfectstate of society. 

Poor and feeble souls exact most from the world. Rich and soaringsouls have a self-sufficing modesty, which, in its own exuberance, asks but little from others. The lark, when, at sunrise, she rises, singing, above our sight, shows that it was not from lack of power toclimb, that she made the humble choice to build her nest in thegrass. Here lies the most elect office of woman--to attract and trainmen to the sober and blissful ends of wisdom and love, and withdrawtheir passions from the wretched ends of folly, on which so manywaste their lives, in ploughing the air, sowing the sea, and tryingto catch the wind with a net. The redemption of the worst men will beeffected when they make voluntary acquisition of what the best womenpossess by instinct, and spontaneously exhibit; namely, thatdisinterested love of goodness, which is willing to give all and asknothing. Happy is he, and he alone safely happy, who gives affectionto his fellows, as the sun gives light to the creation. It receivesnot directly back from single objects what it gives them; but, fromthe whole, all that it radiates is returned. It is so with the goodman and his race. Persons may not return the reverence and love helavishes, but humanity will. For what is his total feeling towardsthe collective individuals that constitute his race, except theglorified reverberation from humanity, back into his experience, ofwhat his own soul has sent forth?

The call of woman, in this age, then, is not to be a brawlingpolitician, clamoring for her share in the authorities and honors ofthe world, launching jokes, sarcasms, and sneers to the right and theleft. Clearly, her genuine work, beyond the family circle, is to setan example of modest devotion to personal improvement and the socialweal. Sir Philip Sidney describes a horseman who "stirred the bridleso gently, that it did rather distil virtue than use violence. " Thatis, in some sense, a type of the proper power of woman. It is herheavenly mission to influence by yielding, rule by obeying, conquerby surrender, and put the crowning grace of joy and glory on her sexby ministering to the hurts and wants of humanity. Kindled by herexample, and compensated by her smile, man will aspire to completehis highest destiny. Her destiny will be fulfilled with his, and init; his in hers, and with it. They cannot be really separated; sincewoman as the inspirer and rewarder of man, in the most intense actionat the top of society, moulds him by her ideal of him reflected inhis imagination. Womanhood is by no means to be personified in theexclusive aspect of a nurse; but as artist, teacher, law-giver, queen, as well. The just personification of womanhood must includethe total aspects and offices of humanity. She has as good a claim asman to them all. But let no hasty advocate insist on adding to thetotality of true and permanent features in that personification, anyof those vicious, accidental, and temporary features incident to theimperfect stages through which humanity has been passing, and isstill passing, in its progressive evolution. 

There is one respect, not often thought of, in which the variousethnic pantheons, from those of the rawest barbarism to those of themost intellectual civilization, possess deep interest andinstructiveness. Their leading personages, gods and goddesses, revealto us the chief types of human character from which they werecreated. The heavens and hells of mythology are the higher and lowerreflections, or upward and downward echoes, of the earth; and thesupernatural beings who people them are idealizations of men andwomen, more or less richly draped with attributes suggested by thephenomena of the universe. The groups of feminine figures furnishedby mythology, therefore, afford a most striking exhibition of thetypical groups of women which must have been known in themythological ages of the world. Conceived in this way, with whatthoughtfullness we should contemplate the Graces, the Muses, theFuries, the Fates, Nemesis, Vesta, Fortuna, Diana, Eris, Ceres, themajestic port of Juno, the frosty splendor of Minerva, the meltingcharm of Venus, the snaky horror of Medusa, Egvptian Isis, thronedamong the stars, and Scandinavian Hela, crouching in her grislyhouse!

It is a characteristic of satirists, in every age, that they classwomen together, as if they were all alike. Every fair view of thesubject shows how false such a conclusion is. There is morefreshness, subtilty, spontaneity, variety, in womanly characters thanin manly. Their range, between the extremes of the demure and thehoydenish, is greater. The feminine types, Helen and Penelope, orClytemnestra and Antigone, are as distinct as the masculine types, Agamemnon and Ulysses, or OEdipus and Philoctetes. The injustice ofthe vulgar saying, "It is just like a woman, " implying that there areno differences among women, makes one indignant. Have we not seenwomen to whom death seems an indignity--looking, in every feature andglance, as immortal as Pallas Athene? And have we not seen womenwhose hideous shape and fiendish spirit suggested an alliance withantediluvian monsters? Is there not a Volumnia, as chaste as thatstar seen in winter dawns shivering on the cold forehead of themorning? And is there not a Messalina, who would receive embraces ina bath of blood? Is there not a Fulvia, who takes the head of themurdered Cicero in her hands, and tears his dumb tongue with herbodkin? And are there not a Saint Elizabeth and a Lady Godiva, capable of supernal deeds of self-denial and heroism for the sake ofblessing the poor? The personality of any one of the bestrepresentatives of womanhood is as vivid and delicate as thoughmoulded from a sensitive leaf instead of clay; yet of such strengthas to be rich in frankness and courage, and sublime in patience. Infact, the distinction of woman is as much greater than that of menpsychologically as it is physiologically. But her choicest vocationmust always lie in the domestic range of the personal relations, andthroughout the heights and depths of the spiritual life. Let herbecome there all that the capacities of human nature prophesy, andman will rapidly be perfected everywhere else. 

The number of claimants contending for the prizes of societyincreases. The facility of a shallow and momentary success becomegreater; but the difficulty and rareness of a substantial andenduring triumph grow in a higher ratio. The arena is crowded; thebattle is vulgar; the sufferings of the contestants are extreme; therewards sought are uncertain and disappointing. How quickly, in ourday, notoriety ends; and what a poor cheat it is! The passionateaspirant for fame, as described so finely by Michelet, stands besidethe unknown sea of futurity, picks up a shell, lifts it to his ear, and listens to a slight noise, in which he fancies he hears themurmur of his own name! For solid dignity or pure contentment, nolife can compare with the one devoted to intrinsic personal ends, theachievement of knowledge, harmony, and piety. Not the warrior, Ambition, not the giant, Legislation, but the little child, Love, isto lead in the golden age. She is the best woman who does most tohasten the inauguration of that divine Child. 

Thoughtful observers agree, that the most ominous characteristic ofthe present age is, its complication of interests, its doubts, itsweariness, its frittering multiplicity of indulgences, cares, andobligations. The best individual remedy for this evil is friendship. Affectionate communion with a trusted and confiding friend, more thanany other experience, appeases the misgivings of conscience, satisfies the vague searches of the mind, and gives peace to theeternal cravings of our gregarious nature. 

If ever the cry of the horse-leech shall cease to be the painfullanguage of the heart, it will be when, the longings of the heart nolonger baffled by the vacancies or the irritating rivalries of avapid and jealous society, all human beings developed enough to need, and noble enough to deserve, shall also be fortunate enough topossess, true friends with whom they may commune in unity of spiritand mirrored doubleness of life. Gratified affection is the truefruition of a spiritual existence. To hope and fear in the being ofanother first gives us the fulfilled consciousness of our own. 

CAMBRIDGE: PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON.