forewarned. The woman who is charming in all sorts of weather, whose lovely colors are not washed out by a rain storm, is the one who can best protect and care for herself in the most womanly way. The woman who is easily fooled is as much to be pitied as an old woman without education. It is not necessary, in order to render a girl self-poised, clear-headed, and cleareyed, that her mind be made to bristle with suspicions like the quills on the back of a porcupine. To see and know life exactly as it is, to dignify human nature as it ought to be, to value truth, and hate falsehood, to know the true from the false, and to prefer the real, with all its scars, to illusion, with all its outside fairness, is the education we want for Ricarda; and that all boys, and girls too, should have. And in this lies my one great reason for preferring a school in which both sexes are taught, regardless of sex. It is not simply, as some affirm, that the boys are made gentler and the girls stronger-which is not to be despised-but that each sees life in a truer light. Shut men off in a province by themselves, and women ditto, and their minds breed fancies full of dark wrinkles, or call forth pictures too fine for realization. They imbibe false ideas of each other, and in this mutual misconception is cradled half the misery of society. But wherever Ricarda is educated, I shall not fear this for her; she will probably judge men by us, in a general way. While from us and with us, she has learned that men love, hate, are good and bad, feel, desire, appreciate, etc., quite like herself; that men and women differ no more really than do women and women. I've no sort of patience with the doctrine that teaches young men that 'girls are so different,' and vice versa. If men used a tithe of the logic with which they claim to be specifically endowed, they would clearly see that, as we all have men for our fathers, and women for our mothers, the difference between the sexes can not be so much radical as artificial; and an artificial difference, in the crucible of life, vanishes into thin air. The same sort of nonsense is that which pronounces women better than men, or handsomer than men. It is all bosh, for it isn't true. It is a pernicious, villainous doctrine too, for a woman reared in such belief never demands men to be of as high stamp as one who has been educated otherwise. If you remonstrate with her concerning the laxity of her male friends, she says with a significant shrug of her shoulders, 'Oh, you know we don't expect the same moral purity in men that one does in women.' If I were a woman, whatever my private convictions might be, I would never give a man occasion for thinking that I ever suspected him of being other than pure and honest in heart, and pure and "Yes, and more; I see how much you have changed in regard to your opinion of women. Do you remember our talk on a November night seven and ten years ago?" "Great men change their minds, fools never," quoted Dick, with ironical pompousness; then relapsing into a quiet mood, he added after a pause: "Yes, I have changed; but I was brought up and educated with boys, and my ideas of girls and women were all distorted; as you know, I had no sisters, and my mother died when I was very young. I was not exactly taught, as was the young man reared by his father in a hermitage, that all women were devils, but I absorbed the idea that they were weak and silly things, capricious and extravagant, and eternally getting men into trouble. Since then I have learned to know some grand women; they have all been women of mature years, however—fifty at least ; but such gracious, strongly tender, capacious hearted, and cultivated souls, as exacted from me my profoundest admiration and reverence. Some of these have been wives and mothers, and some not. I think earnest and fitting work, of whatever kind, nobly done, will develop a woman right royally, whether in or out of the matrimonial kingdom. As for Ricarda, I think she, any day, is as good as the manliest boy ever born. Indeed, I don't think I'd exchange her for two boys." The father smiled gladly, being evidently of the same opinion. But girls as a rule give fathers more happiness than boys, which may in some measure explain why girls usually get more of their father's kisses than they do of his dollars. The ultimate decision of where Ricarda should be sent to college was finally left with that maiden herself, and she chose Vassar. "I shall escape one thing there, I suppose," she archly observed, in slight extenuation of her decision; "escape Uncle Dick's bugbear of falling in love, unless it be with a woman. But I remember that a famous French woman said that the one thing that consoled her for having been born a woman was, that she wouldn't be expected to marry one. So it may be, at the end of four years, that I shall despise my own sex as bitterly as did Arthur Schopenhauer. Mais, nous verrons. I shall be twenty years old then, papa -a grande jeune dame-have my first silken frock, and be an acknowledged young lady. And what then, Uncle Dick-what then? To be a young lady is to be what? to do what?" Dick sat some time in silence. The question evidently puzzled him. James looked on amused and interested, but in no wise prone to help him long time," drily remarked James. out of the difficulty. to have a weakness that way." "That is the question of the day, Ricarda," he finally replied. "No man can answer it. That is what you go to college for-to find out." "And what do you say, papa?" and the young girl approached her father, and stood in a caressing way by his side. He drew his arm about her, pressing her to his heart, and, with a voice in which all his father's fondness was melted, replied: To love her father, my child—to be his help, consolation, joy." Ricarda's eyes filled with tears, and for answer she took his face between her hands, and showered upon it a child's rapturous kisses. During this scene Dick had moved away to the window, and, though touched by the expressed need of the one for love, and the ready response of the other to grant it in overflowing measure, he stuffed his hands in his pockets as if that action in some way bolstered up his feelings. "Just like a man-just like a woman," he muttered to himself. "'Tis the old story. It has been so from the beginning. Moses said the Lord created the woman for the man, to be his help-mate, and so it has been translated ad hominem ever since. He is ever to be for himself, and she is for ever to be for him. He has never for a generation ceased to demand this of her, and she has never ceased to give herself to him. That she should think of other ambitions than to be his love, his help, his consolation, his joy, is to him anarchy and revolution. It is to have 'rights.' Alas! for the selfishness of man, that, after centuries of self-sacrifice and devotion of woman to him, he should not, will not, be generous to her, sharing with her to the uttermost the largess of all the accumulated blessings of the ages," and he tapered off his wrath with a sonorous tattoo on the window-pane. "What are you saying, Dick?" asked James, who often used that form of expression to get at his friend's thoughts. "Not saying anything. I was thinking what queer creatures we are-we men." But it was not until several weeks later-after Ricarda had been duly and carefully installed in her collegehome-that Dick explained to his friend wherein he thought "men queer," and which embodied his musings already recorded. "Just so soon as a woman shows herself to be charming, beautiful, intelligent, and capable," he concluded, "endowed with the very qualities with which to honor her sex and bless the world, there is always a man in ambush to appropriate her to himself." "She's been accepting the appropriation a 66 Yes, the weakness of education. 'Tis not to be wondered at, since she has been taught to regard it her destiny ever since-ages before Ruth went on the sly to doze at the heels of Boaz." James broke out into shocked laughter. "O Dick! you have no more sentiment in you than what lodges in a stove-pipe. You would even transform that beautiful story of Ruth-" "Beautiful? Ridiculous story! If Naomi had not been as daft as Ruth herself, she would have boxed that young widow's ears soundly for such outlandish behavior. I'm not an admirer of women of that sort, making all due allowance in the case of Ruth for the courtship and marriage customs then in vogue. I admire a woman like Amalie Snowberg. She's been a beauty and a belle these many years; one of the most accomplished women in America; turning heads wherever she goes; men falling on their knees to her, offering the sublime gifts of their hands, and vowing the usual vows-those iron-clad, unbreakable vows. But she smiles and says, Thanks, I have no need,' and goes on her triumphant way, like a goddess walking on clouds, self-poised, self-reliant, sublime. I hope Ricarda will be like that. I always feel like offering to the clinging, viny, love-hungering, husbandhunting sort of women a bottle of smelling-salts, with the injunction, 'Take a sniff of that, madame. I think 'twill help you.' James's laughter broke out afresh, and continued until Dick too caught the infection, and both men laughed heartily together. "O Dick! you've one lesson yet to learn. Like death ''twill teach you More than this melancholy world doth knowThings deeper than all lore'—" "What's that, Jim?" "Love." Dick groaned. IV. SIX months after Ricarda's departure, Richard Lane unexpectedly made arrangements to go abroad. The bank with which from the first he had been connected decided to establish branch interests both in London and Paris, and Lane was urged and prevailed upon to go to take charge of the foreign affairs. He paid a flying visit to Poughkeepsie, to say "good-by" to Ricarda, and a thousand other characteristic things; then returned to embrace James, and be off to sea, making nearly as great a change in their two lives as had been made years before, when James her body such liberty and grace of motion. Full had married, and left Dick inconsolable. The loneliness of the father naturally drew him into closer sympathy and union with his daughter, and had a similar effect in return upon Ricarda. The words he had uttered from his heart-love, help, consolation, joy-never slipped from her memory. "If I can only be that to him," she said to herself a thousand times, "nothing else could be so sweet. I want nothing better, because, could there be anything better?” Dick wrote her regularly, and his letters were full of descriptions of what he saw, and bristling with his pungent opinions and comments thereupon. If he heard Mrs. Fawcett or Lydia Becker make a speech, spent an evening with the Rosettis, saw Jean Ingelow, had a Sunday evening at George Eliot's, breakfasted with William Allingham, or exchanged an opinion with Miss Helen Taylor, the affair was duly reported to Ricarda, and pictured in a way to heighten her enthusiasm for the aristocracy of brains and her admiration for women individuals. She not infrequently had her seasons of "castle building," of making a name and a place for herself in the world—of devoting herself to astronomy, like Maria Mitchell, or to chemistry, like her father—to be his help in that, his successor, like a son, in case of his death. What could be more fitting? Women possessed marked and specific qualifications for scientific pursuits, her professor in astronomy said. Then the old refrain would ring in her ears-" Love, help, consolation, joy." Could she as a lover and patron of science be all that to her father in the fullest sense? To answer those needs of a man's heart should a woman be his comrade, his coworker; threading the streets with him, facing the storms, heart and brain being absorbed by the wildly fascinating revelations, discoveries, and achievements in the workshop? Or must she needs be the deity at his fireside, the goddess of domesticity, the sunshine of home into which he comes from his toil to bathe himself, to find rest, caress, delight to find in the gentle clasp of her hand, the loyal kiss of her lips, the charm of her presence, what neither science nor success can yield, and which has its source in but one fount the wide world over-the loving heart of a woman? Ricarda could not answer the question to her satisfaction, and wisely concluded to let time and circumstances shape her duty. Meantime she studied, as she rode on horseback, plied the oar, or roamed the fields for botanical treasures, with a zest and freshness that never flagged. She wore throughout her school-life the short princess-shaped frocks that became her so well, were so light to wear, so easily adjusted, and gave to of life, gayety, and originality, strong, beautiful, and enthusiastic, she was a favorite with her fellows, and regarded by her instructors as a "very promising girl." Only during the last few weeks of her senior year did she lay aside her schoolgirl garb, and in silken frock, with her full, curling, sun-tinted hair loosely coiffed on the top of her head, blossom into the grande dame, her charms enhanced by the mysterious and bewitching paraphernalia of young womanhood. Even her father, under whose frequent gaze she had unfolded into perfect bloom, was dazed by the transformation costume and coiffure had wrought. She seemed a head taller, a decade more dignified; the fire in her large black eyes glowed with softer and steadier splendor; the outline of her face began to suggest the exquisite oval that culture and thought give in exchange for the roundness of immaturity; while on lip and brow, in step and smile were betrayed the free gladness, the fine, proud sensibility that is the birthright of every well-born and well-bred woman. Although her voice had deepened and softened in tone, it still rang with its old-time silveriness, and was edged at times with a shade of what Dick had called the essence of bewitchment." James well remembered a similar quality in her mother's voice, a sort of musical gurgle, such as one often hears in birds, but rarely in the voices of great human singers, and which falls on the heart more than on the ear, and is to it what a brief scent of violets is to the sense of smell, or a sip of Chartreuse to the taste-an indescribable agreeableness too delicate for large draughts of its enjoyment, but delicious enough to keep the senses ajar for another taste. He wondered what Dick would think of their "little girl"-he who had not once seen her in all this time? And Ricarda wondered, too, fearing that she would come so far short of his ideal-with which he had taken all pains to make her familiar—as to think her "flat, stale, and unprofitable." But Dick had written that he was at last coming home for a three months' vacation, and hoped to arrive in time to see her made a Laureate of Arts," or whatever the Vassaric honor might be in degree of title. "I shall make you a profound obeisance,” he wrote, "and present you with a bouquet as large as a Japanese parapluie, and make an overwhelming display of all the British hauteur and French politesse that I have imbibed in these three and a half years." “And I," laughingly commented Ricarda to her father-" and I will move like a goddess with her feet on clouds and her head among the stars. I will only deign to look at him out of the extreme outside corners of my eyes, as did Eugé nie on her courtiers in her palmy days, and give him but the tips of my fingers, like the regulation society nip of icebergs. I think that will freeze him to a befitting awe of me. At all events, papa, I don't believe he will wind my curls around his wrists, and seize me by my arm with, 'Come, Ricarda,' as he did four years ago-do you? Ah, but those were happy days, and for us three to be together again will be too good to be true! I hope there will be no sense of strangeness, so that we have to lose one moment in getting acquainted over." But when Richard Lane finally arrived the gay commencement season at Vassar was over, its brilliant crowd dispersed, and Ricarda and her father again at home in the same house that had sheltered them from Ricarda's babyhood. With what lightness of heart and limb Dick leaped from the ship as she touched pier late in that July afternoon, sped toward the familiar street, and rang the bell, only the eager-returned after a long absence from love, companionship, and home know. Ricarda was alone when Mr. Richard Lane's card was brought to her (her father had not yet returned home for the day, and neither was expecting Dick's ship until the following morning); and in her surprise and delight she forgot all about her stately reception programme, flew down stairs and into the drawing-room, as though she had both the feet of a goddess and the wings of a seraph, and, before catching a glimpse of him, cried, "Uncle Dick!" and with extended arms hurried to give him greeting. "Oh, you haven't grown a half day older!" she exclaimed, looking in his face with true Ricardian directness, after they had exchanged a frank and affectionate salutation. "No, not a minute older! I'm so glad you are not changed, as I was dreading to be obliged to get acquainted over. Of course you are improved; everybody is who goes abroad," she continued with a mischievous air. "You have won the elegance and distinction of travel. You have 'resided' in Paris and London. You are un homme du monde comme il faut! How does my Vassar French sound in your Parisian ears? And I, Uncle Dick, tell me quick-have I changed?" and, assuming an air of grave dignity, she retreated a few steps and made him a courtesy that would have been an honor even to Fanny Kemble herself. Lane moved away, and, resting his arm upon the mantel shelf, stood so long regarding her in silence that she blushed and felt a grateful sense of relief as she heard the click of her father's latch key in the street door, and Dick's immobility broken by her father's entrance, and the heartily expressed pleasure of the reunion of the two men. Thenceforward conversation progressed rapidly, at times disjointedly and by leaps, as news, gossip, questions, and answers crowded upon each other, everything seeming inspired with an eager haste to fill up the gap the years of separation had made. Before they separated for the night it was decided that they should go, as soon as possible, to the country, where James had already engaged a cottage for their occupancy. "And what do you think of Ricarda?" the father asked, as the two lingered after that young lady's withdrawal. "You find her considerably changed, I suppose." "I can tell you better hereafter, Jim," answered Lane after a pause. She surprised me, and I haven't got over it enough yet to tell what I do think. She asked me herself if I thought she had changed, but I made her no reply. I think, so far as my thoughts have taken shape, that she is what Victor Hugo would call a masterpiece of grace." Upon reaching his room-the old familiar one -Lane turned off the gas, and sat a long time by the open window thinking, and trying to think to analyze his feelings and put them into shape. Although he had expected to find Ricarda a woman upon his return, yet the only real picture he had of her in his mind was as she appeared when he had last seen her. But this new vision that greeted him—this superb young creature robed in white, nearly as tall as himself, blonde, dark-eyed, with face, form, and hands a symphony of beauty, harmony, and elegance, and in her presence an indefinable something so fresh, so sweet, so clear and true, as if she had been the first woman ever created-all this filled his heart with bewilderment, with ineffable content, and indescribable awe. He felt in a way as a mortal might feel who had prayed and labored a lifetime for the realization of his highest ideal, and upon beholding it, real and tangible at last, feels his ecstasy pierced by a sense of remorse at having dared to desire so celestial an image. Ricarda was to Lane his ideal of what a perfect woman might be-should Heaven be gracious enough to grant one to earth-but she was far too fine and rare a creature for the realization of his theories of what a woman should do. What had seemed to him a probability in Ricarda at sixteen seemed an utter impossibility in this Ricarda at twenty. Nature, with her silent, busy processes, while answering his prayers, had also defeated his purposes. This girl was as brave, free, happy, and innocent, as sparkling, confiding, and loving now as then; but with all that she was now a great deal more. And it was this something more, this unlooked-for, unexpected, supplementary radiance of finish, that blotted out Dick's hope of a shining "professional career" as utterly as death could have done. He found himself at the end of his leadership; and, with a sense of having in some way been baffled and outwitted, to his honor and glory, he went to bed and to sleep. What seemed to James and Lane, and perhaps to most persons who saw her, a notable womanly beauty in Ricarda, lay not so much in its perfectness as in its uniqueness. Her beauty was full of surprises, because she herself was so full of nature. Young American women, tall, fair, graceful in form, beautiful-haired, and lustrous-eyed-one meets with such every day in a fashionable avenue. But what especially distinguished Ricarda was the difference between an artificial and cultivated elegance and the elegance of nature. There was a comprehensiveness, an elasticity of beauty in her that adapted itself to everything within her and without her. As Nature, under favorable circumstances, helped by sun and shade and shower, and unhampered by untoward conditions, dowers every creation of her hand with a peculiar beauty and grace, so all the elements in this young girl's womanhood, physical, mental, and spiritual, had bloomed into full symmetry. By simply being natural, she produced an effect like perfect art, as at the highest point of human achievement nature and art meet. This result was in large measure unquestionably due to the fashion, or unfashion, of her early training, which had been Dick's theory to "turn all her faces to the sun." Her growth had in no way been cramped or distorted; it had only been guided. Her life had not been ruled by maxims, labeled as "propriety" or "impropriety," but led to express itself according to a sense of right and beauty. It had been set to the music of bird, brook, and forest, instead of to that of Italian masters. To do an awkward or unkind thing would have seemed as impossible to and discordant with her being as thorns in the petal of a rose, or the odor of a sunflower in a carnation. That, in the transition of her college life, culture had acted as a handmaid to nature, rather than as a successor, was owing more perhaps to good fortune than to definite good conversation with them I feel as if they were spiritually handling me in gloves, as if afraid to be themselves right out for fear of horrifying me. or incurring my displeasure. Then, too, he is really the most elegant man we know, papa; none of our friends have so courteous an address. Indeed, he makes me feel as if I were a princess, and he were a gallant knight." "Dick was always a brave and gallant fellow," replied her father. "I think he has taken on some additional ease and polish since going abroad, and most women are very susceptible to fine manners." "Certainly; and men, too, are they not, papa? Burke says truly that manners are of more importance than law. It is only when they form a superficial covering to hypocrites that they become intolerable. Hugo very fittingly calls such persons 'gilded people.'" V. SOME days following the installation of the three friends in their country cottage, where they lived more out than in-door, Ricarda, who had been wanting to discuss her future to be and to do with her father and Dick, had the way for so doing paved by the latter in an account he had been giving them, during their out-door breakfasting, of the work being done among the working classes by the Baroness Burdett-Coutts. "She is not, personally, a very attractive woman, I believe," observed James. "On the contrary, quite fine-looking now," replied Lane. "I have been told that she was ugly in her youth, but she seems to have been growing in grace ever since." "That comes from having a career- from having good work to do," exclaimed Ricarda. "I believe mental activity is as essential to the highest type of physical beauty as are pure water and fresh air. Indeed, I have a theory that, if the activity be of the right sort, it can develop beauty out of ugliness; for which I could cite more illustrations than that of the financial queen of the world. What would be the result, think you, if I were to be papa's professional partner, and become a Great Chemist-spelled with capital letters-or a successor of Faraday?" "I think," laughed her father, "the result might be the transformation of a woman into a magnetic needle." |