the work has been so admirably done by Professor Charles K. Adams,
there is really no need of any suggestions except such as are found
in his "Manual of Historical Literature." In this work you will find
the names and descriptions of all the books required to get a knowledge
of any historical subject. The author has also given definite courses
of reading on historical subjects, including in his plan all valuable
works which border upon the subjects.
In history, as in literature, the most attractive and thorough way
of studying is by epochs. In this connection, the little histories
known as the "Epoch Series" are most valuable. The books are divided
into the two general classes of ancient and modern history. Each work
attempts to give a picture of an important epoch, and to faithfully
discuss the period. The series pertaining to modern history includes
"The Normans and the Feudal System," "The Crusades," "The Beginning
of the Middle Ages," "The Early Plantagenets," "Edward the III.," "The
Era of the Protestant Revolution," "The Thirty Years' War," "The Houses
of Lancaster and York," "The Age of Elizabeth," "The Fall of the
Stuarts," "The Puritan Revolution," "The Age of Anne," "Frederick the
Great."
I should study these subjects, and group about them such works, in
history, biography, fiction, or poetry, as Professor Adams suggests.
I have not selected for special remark literature, rhetoric, and history
because you are girls. If this were so, I should have followed the
dictates of society, and added the study of languages. Young women
and young men need no particular educational differences. It has been
proved that girls are as capable of excelling in any study as boys
are. Let me quote to you the following:--
"A very common belief is, that women, even when studious, are rather
literary than scientific. Statistics prove either that they are changing
in this regard, or that the notion is erroneous. The great majority
of women at the universities of Zurich and Geneva study not letters,
but science and medicine. M. Ernest Legouve reported in a recent
competition for fellowships in the University of France, 'The papers
of the scientific candidates were greatly superior to those of letters.
This result contradicts a very general opinion, which I myself have
strongly supported, that scientific studies--the abstract sciences
and mathematics--must hold a subordinate place in women's education,
because they are incompatible with the nature of the female intellect.
We have been mistaken.' In England, Miss Ormerod has distinguished
herself by her observations on insect life. Very recently a paper was
read before the Mathematical Society of London by Mrs. Bryant, Sc.D.,
on the geometrical form of perfectly regular cell structure, illustrated
by models of cube and rhombic dodecahedron. In another section, Mme.
Traube Mengarini studies the function of the brain in fishes; while,
in our own country, Mrs. Treat and others have made valuable progress
in scientific research." [Footnote: Graphic.]
VII.
THE COMMONPLACE.
Commonplace! Why, what is commonplace? Were it not better to call all
things ordinary, or else nothing common? I suppose the pyramids are
commonplace to the Egyptians, and St. Peter's to the Romans, drawing
forth no words of wonder unless on special occasions; just as the stars,
in their thronging pilgrimage across the sky, elicit no remarks from
us, unless one falls out of the procession; and just as the dawn comes
to us unfolding the new day without our ever greeting it, unless it
be heralded with pomp of crimson and gold. Travel over the world, make
your path a belt around the earth, visit all that is wonderful, and
see all races of people,--do this without ever thinking deeply on the
objects presented to sight or mind, and all things will become
commonplace, unsatisfactory, dull, dronish.
Believe me, girls, there is nothing commonplace that is worth thinking
about. And, pray, has God made any object which is not worth a thought?
Are you living in a city, girls, surrounded by opportunities for
improving your mental faculties; blessed by association with persons
of refinement; favored with that peculiar culture which only great
cities can freely offer in their art-galleries, their museums, their
lecture-rooms; and stimulated to do good to the poor about your streets?
You are, indeed, favored: your lot is an enviable one.
Do you live out of town, and quite removed from the attractions of
a metropolis? Ah! your home, then, is under clearer skies, which the
city artists can only imitate; you live amidst the decorations which
highest Nature imparts but to country landscapes. Without the especial
occupations of city life, you escape its rush and tumult. You are being
taught by slower, yet as attractive, methods, the grand lessons of
life. The instruction which comes from woods and streams and hills,
and the intercourse which arises among hearty country people, are more
thorough and more cordial than the brick walls and hurrying crowds
of a city can afford. Your chances for even aesthetic culture are not
to be despised. Though you see fewer objects of art, listen to fewer
men of genius, perhaps are obliged to be less among books, you learn
to know the artistic works more truly, you appreciate the lecture more
fully, and you remember the books you read longer.
Is your home by the ocean, on some sterile length of sand or rock,
and amongst sea-faring people? Still, you are girls to be envied; for
the sea has grand thoughts to tell you, and the rocks are full of
meaning. The bracing air, the salt breeze, the impetuous beat of the
sea, must arouse energy within you which even the heat of summer cannot
wholly allay. Surely, the hospitable, the generous-hearted, people of
your town must prove to you the worth of intercourse with them.
Considering, now, the position of a girl in her home, in society, in
the world, I suppose we must make the confession that a large part
of the discontent we have found among girls has arisen from
dissatisfaction with their positions. Her resources, her industries, her
pleasures, are all too narrow for her, the girl complains. Now, my dear
girls, just think one moment! Isn't it rather your ignorance of your
surroundings, your lack of effort to find out everything good and joyful
in them, which have made you discontented? Don't you think you may be
looking for something above your heads which really lies under your
hands? Have you made the most of what you already possess? When one has
seen England and France, then one is seized with an ardent desire to
visit Germany, Italy, Russia, and Spain. When a girl has a watch, she
feels a great longing for a diamond. The means of gratifying one wish
are the surest passports to another wish. Oh, yes! it is well to be
dissatisfied sometimes. It is never quite right to be fully contented,
after a noble endeavor; but do let us stop, now and then, to see if
our present condition, and what it brings to us, have not something
in them as good as the future can offer.
Would it not be a good rule to make, never to get a new book till we
have read the last one we bought; not to look at the second picture
in the gallery till we have some idea of the first we see; not to climb
Mount Washington till we have had the view from the hills in our own
neighborhood?
But I suppose you think that persons, rather than objects, are
commonplace,--that even some girls are so? Well, it may be you have
the truth on your side; but I should as soon think of commonplace
flowers, or gems, or rainbows, as of commonplace girls. You remark, "Oh,
she is very ordinary, is not at all interesting! She is neither
cultured, rich, stylish, nor pretty. She is stupid!" Ah, girls, girls,
do you really know what she is, or what she may become? A girl
commonplace! Suppose she is not lively, is not fond of parties, does not
use slang appropriately at all, is utterly ignorant of the last freak of
fashion, and hardly knows whether her skirt is draped or plain; suppose
she has, on the whole, a rather forlorn appearance, being pitifully
unconscious of what is unbecoming in dress, or gait, or habit; suppose,
in fact, she does not at once show you she has any special faculty,--
well, I have seen such a girl win a prejudiced person completely, and
show that, though it cost patience to get acquainted with her, the
acquaintance was worth every effort. A girl of this kind often takes us
by surprise, and proves reliable in an emergency. Something remarkable
is done, and we want to know who did it! We are amazed when we hear in
answer the name of some quiet girl of whom we had never thought much,
and we exclaim, "Why, I did not know she could do any thing! Where did
she ever get the courage? I didn't know she had a speck of brains,
or heart, or any kind of faculty,--no brilliancy to her!"
Yes, girls, it must be charming to be brilliant, to be apt at repartee,
to scatter bright remarks among a company as a queen scatters largess
among the throngs on coronation day, to have a following in society
who are like ladies in waiting. Oh, it must be delightful, for a while,
to be a society heroine! You know just such a girl. She leads a dozen
in her steps, and her remarks are quoted whenever the dozen are
together. Ah, she is so much admired! The way in which she lets a stray
look hang down over her forehead, the becoming toss of her head, the
coquettish raising of her eyes, the shrug of her shoulders, the ring
of her laugh,--the way she does every thing with her pretty face, her
graceful form,--is so lovely! She is such a very "bright" girl too!
Yes, "bright" is the word now used to distinguish one who is in
appearance somewhat more than the average person.
But, girls, why not say that your friend is pretty, graceful,
good-natured; that she dresses becomingly, is rather cultivated in her
tastes; that she is confident of herself, and a little conceited and
imperious; that she is quick, and ready with somewhat pert answers; and
that she is seen at her best in society?
In spite of frowns and closed ears, girls, I am going to insist that
all the attractions of a brilliant, or outwardly beautiful, girl are
as nothing compared with the attractions of character which spring
from many a plain, modest, quiet girl. Are you to wear your choicest
attributes as you do your clothes? A sure, strong arm in danger, a
gentle word in sorrow, an honest bit of counsel in doubt, courage in
times of trial, hearty praise in periods of endeavor,--all qualities
which have their origin in noble character,--you will come to feel
are infinitely better than brilliancy. You will appreciate them in
those from whom external beauty has departed, or you will recognize
the loveliness of these characteristics in the ever-living beauty which
the soul draws upon faces otherwise plain and homely. Cultivate that
power of insight which will enable you to look beyond eyes and nose
and mouth into the heart and soul of your friends: then you will see
beauty indeed, then you will know how precious and how beautiful a
woman's mind and a woman's character is. Then you will understand how
the poet writes her song, how the artist paints her rose, how the
musician meets out harmonies, how the teacher makes truth attractive.
More than this--much more than this--will come from insight. When you
have learned to look for inner beauty you will learn to make it your
own. Behind your lovely faces and your beautiful forms there will be
nourished the loftiest ideality of womanhood, which will make you not
only comprehend the worth of another, but will help you to interpret all
that is best and loveliest everywhere. It's very sweet to us to recall
that such women as Alice and Phoebe Cary, Helen Hunt, Mrs. Browning, and
Jean Ingelow were able to express in words such beautiful thoughts as
could arise only from beautiful souls; but it is dearer yet to remember
that women, whose numbers cannot be counted, are living those thoughts
by daily acts. Learn to lift the cover from the casket of a woman's soul
and you shall see jewels that never yet have been exposed to the glance
of one who looks for them in sparkling eyes, in glowing cheeks, and
radiant hair. If there is any thing most sweet and lovely, any thing
which ought to distinguish one girl from another, it is character.
I wish, as a favor to your friend who now talks with you in print,
since she cannot speak with you face to face,--I wish you would read
an essay on "The Beautiful," to be found among the prose works of
Whittier. There is such delicate admiration of womanliness in it; there
is so much encouragement, so much love of that beauty which shows itself
in character, rather than in form and presence; there is such an
emphasis put to the truth that from the purity of our own minds and
hearts come our knowledge of the beautiful, and our ability to find the
beautiful everywhere. "'Handsome is that handsome does!--hold up your
heads, girls!'... Be good, be womanly, be gentle, generous in your
sympathies, heedful of the well-being of all around you; and, my word
for it, you will not lack kind words of admiration. ... Every mother's
daughter of you _can_ be beautiful. You can envelop yourselves in an
atmosphere of moral and intellectual beauty, through which your
otherwise plain faces will look forth like those of angels. Beautiful to
Ledyard, stiffening in the cold of a northern winter, seemed the
diminutive, smoke-stained women of Lapland, who wrapped him in their
furs, and ministered to his necessities with kindness and gentle words
of compassion. Lovely to the homesick heart of Park seemed the dark
maids of Sego, as they sung their low and simple song of welcome beside
his bed, and sought to comfort the white stranger who had 'no mother to
bring him milk, and no wife to grind him corn.' Oh, talk as we may
of beauty as a thing to be chiselled from marble, or wrought out on
canvas!... what is it but an intellectual abstraction, after all? The
heart feels a beauty of another kind. Looking through the outward
environment, it discovers a deeper and more real loveliness."
Girls are so often afraid of the commonplace in people that they will
not marry unless some one, with a true or false claim to distinction,
offers himself. We have seen quite a company of girls charmed with
the "de" or the "von" attached to a man's name. Every foreign capital
can show its scores of American girls who have made themselves
ridiculous by giving up property, home, American ideas, and American
ways,--alas! by giving up much that stands for character,--for the sake
of marrying a "pendant to a moustache," said moustache belonging to a
worn-out title, and being in need of money to keep its ends waxed. Why,
girls, just think! a hundred thousand dollars for the privilege of being
called the wife of Monsieur le Comte de Rien, and of living, eventually,
in an attic on the outskirts of Paris!
Why is it that if a young man has not certain points of distinction
in the way he combs his hair, wears his collar, or affects the English
gentleman, some of the girls hesitate about receiving his attentions?
If they do finally accept his kindness, they feel obliged to excuse
his commonplace appearance, and exclaim to their friends apologetically,
"But, then, he is really good at heart, you know, and very agreeable!"
Oh, pride is a valuable characteristic sometimes, but is one of the
worst of evils when it tries to despise the ordinary.
Do you not think we should all be happier, girls, if we took more time
to appreciate the commonplace? I have observed in the lives of great
naturalists, that not only the stone which all other builders had
rejected became the head of the corner in their temple of knowledge,
but that the most patient observation of simplest things was the
material out of which the edifice was made. Thoreau wanted to account
for the fact that when a pine grove is cut down an oak forest often
grows up; so he went, each year, to visit a pine lot in Concord. In
his earliest observations he could see nothing except pines; but,
burrowing around in the leaf-mould, he found, at last, tiny oaks an inch
or two high. Year after year he visited the grove; still he could
observe no special growth of the oaks. Finally the grove was cut down.
Up sprang the tiny oaks, and flourished in the light and sunshine now
freely admitted to them. Thick and tall, they grew into a very forest,
and the pines had never a chance to rise up and crowd them out. Do you
think the naturalist's search stopped then? Oh, no! He next found out
how the tiny oaks came among the pines; he inquired into the habits
of squirrels as planters, into the character of winds and birds as
farmers and bundle-boys; and was at length able to account for the
succession of our forest trees.
The commonplace will never advance to meet us; but have faith in its
intrinsic merit, look for beauty, and you will find it. Could you
predict that from the plants lying in the stagnant pool such a perfect
flower as a lily would spring? If you were passing a low, thatched
cottage made of rough stone, its only pretence being a coat of
whitewash, would you guess it held a poet? And, if you were riding
along in a horse-car, interested only in the foreign-looking faces
and the remarkable clothes, would you be likely to know that a great
philanthropist sat beside you? No, not unless you had learned to observe
more wisely than most girls; and not unless you had found out the noble
worth of certain ordinary men and women whose faces are not pictured
in books, nor raised on medallions.
How cautious we ought to be in forming our judgments! Have you never
made the mistake of replying carelessly to one whom you thought was
stupid, but whom you discovered to be a person of marked ability? The
older we grow, the more we are amazed at our lack of good sense in
framing an opinion of those whom we meet. We are so frequently surprised
at what persons do or become, we feel we can never be sure that any
one is common, or of the every-day sort. We almost believe Novalis
speaks the truth when he says, "We touch Heaven when we touch a human
body." Let us remember then, girls, not to trust our first impressions.
In forming our judgments let us be very sure our knowledge is sufficient
to tell which are the sheep and which are the goats, before we begin
to separate them.
Just once more let me insist on the necessity of training the
observation for enjoyment of the commonplace. We call things stupid,
dronish, monotonous, because our faculties are not sufficiently
exercised to see any other qualities in them. Do you not suppose an
artist sees more in a birch swamp than we do? Is not even he likelier
to be successful in painting new wonders in the commonplace than in
trying to show objects we seldom see?
Have you never noticed Albrecht Durer's drawing of Praying Hands? Look
at a photograph of it, please. Is it not wonderful? We cannot describe
all the feeling those hands suggest. If you had passed them on the
street, you would not have noticed them, unless to remark that they
were grimy, perhaps, or lean. The great German artist saw them folded
in prayer, and heard all the language of a despairing soul as it came
out in the expression of those hands,--wonderful hands, "instinct with
spirit." Look at them again, girls.
We talked about commonplace duties when we spoke of work. Let me repeat
here that life is made up of commonplace deeds. We do not have great
national disturbances every day; and the surest proof that we have
greater need of common events rather than startling ones, ordinary
duties rather than extraordinary, is, that the moment we scorn an
ordinary occurrence, or omit a daily duty, we find ourselves and every
one else miserable, for a while, at least. We are stopping a part of
the machinery necessary to human happiness. Let us not despise the
lowliest duties. George Macdonald, the writer who has given strength
to the souls of so many people, was contented to write, "If I can put
one touch of a rosy sunset into the life of any man or woman, I shall
feel that I have worked with God."
Do you begin to think, girls, I would have you always prosaic, plodding,
self-satisfied, unambitious? Oh, no! do not understand me so. Why,
I believe that even dreaming about doing, and seeing, and having things
is sometimes very helpful, and not at all inconsistent with the
commonplace. It is almost necessary for some people to build
air-castles. They get more real pleasure in them than they would from
real castles on the Rhine, the Danube, or along the rivers of sunny
France. Have you never read Curtis's "Prue and I"?
Ah, how beautiful it is to be dreaming about a future, though it may
never come true!--to be floating on the sunset tide of Venice; to be
journeying over the passes of the Alps in summer, and always approaching
Mount Blanc; to be resting by the fountain in Alhambra's Court of Lions;
to be gazing at the Sistine Madonna in Dresden, or at the Ascension
in the Vatican; to be dosing in an orange grove in southern California;
to be awed by the deep canons of the Colorado, or to be filled with
the sublimity of the Yosemite!
How glorious to be dreaming of what we will do when we are women with
wills and purses all our own!--with long rows of books in our libraries,
elegant pictures in our drawing-rooms, and oh! such beautiful boudoirs,
all, all of our own; or, at least, a room which shall be a _sanctum
sanctorum_, where the fire on the hearth never smoulders, and where
loving friends, beautiful mementos, and peaceful thoughts make us always
happy. How fine to fancy longings achieved, and present desires
gratified!
All dreams, yes; but they do sometimes come out better than true. The
only thing wiser than dreaming is doing,--working in such a way as
to bring the distant near, and getting out of the veriest commonplaces
the joy we fancied lay only in the future, in other lands, or only
in dreams.
Build castles and dwellings out of the commonplace, and you shall see
them shine with splendor, and glow with beauties which can never be
exhausted. She alone is rich who has estates in her soul.
VIII.
MOODS.
Blues, dumps, megrims, odd spells,--do they ever visit you? Drive them
out of doors; chase them down the yard, over the fence, up the tree,
till they go riding off on their own broomsticks, or vanish in thin
air! If ever they come tapping on your window-pane again, don't open
the casement; but turn your backs, stop up your ears, laugh as loud
as you can, then seize the first piece of work which waits to be done.
These demons are afraid of a laugh; and when they have the least
suspicion that a smile wreathes the lips of a mortal, they will slink
away and coil up in remote corners. They are equally alarmed by work,
because it puts an armor of steel all over their opponents. This coat of
mail is absolutely impenetrable, though blue imps should hurl their
arrows of torture forever.
But, beware! Do not stop to think work and good cheer will put these
creatures to flight. Sing your song, laugh your laugh, and make work,
if none is at hand. Then only will these poor miserable prowlers shrivel
up and crawl under ground.
What are gloomy moods good for? What are they not bad for? Why are
we always making excuse for entertaining such company? If we are ashamed
of them, let's send them packing, as we would any disreputable visitors,
such as cheats, biting dogs, or poisonous insects.
How weak is our apology for enduring moods, when we blame some person,
long since dead, for handing down to us an inheritance of megrims!
We need not accept such a legacy, though of course we must fight very
hard to resist its allurements. It may be convenient enough to censure
inheritance for this or that oddity. Our grandmothers had strange
moods,--spoke to people on some days and did not speak on other
days,--so we have diligently doubled our bequest, and have spells odder
yet,--find our friends quite delightful for a week or more, and then as
distasteful for a still longer time.