  DID you ever stop short in the midst of the grind, and toil, and whirl of life, at the thought. After all, what will this never ceasing fret of body and soul amount to? Did you ever then begin to reckon upon your fingers the unfulfilled promises of life within your knowledge, as if you had but just heard of them? First, there is your acquaintance, Mr. ——, who, since he came to years of maturity, has had but this one object: to secure a pecuniary independence for himself and his children. At fifty he has achieved it; and now he has nothing to do but to enjoy himself. But how? That is the question which racks his brain day and night. He has his library, to be sure; that was part of the furnishing of his house; but, alas! he has no taste for reading. He has fine pictures upon his walls; but he has no eye for their beauty. He has daughters; but they are devoured with the love of finery and fashion. He has sons; but they are emulating each other in spending money, criminally and foolishly; and now he stands aghast at the goal, to reach which he has sacrificed the better part of himself and them; his sun is setting, and he Then there is Mrs. ——, who has staked all on her beautiful young daughter. She was educated at home, for fear of the contamination of associates; she was never from under the watchful eye of her parents, lest her manners should receive a flaw. She was drilled to speak, step, look, smile, eat, and drink, according to prescribed rules. She must perfect herself in music, in the languages, in drawing. Her eyes, hands, teeth, nails, must undergo a careful supervision each day, lest any attraction should be prematurely shorn of its glory. At last she dawns into beautiful womanhood. The evening is fixed for her triumphant entrance into society. Dress-makers, hair-dressers, jewellers, and florists are called into requisition. The important toilette is finished; when suddenly the house is thrown into consternation by her violent indisposition; and before morning the young girl sleeps in her shroud. The anguished woman groans out, "Ye have taken away my idol, and what have I left?" and she feels that life for her has nothing left but a dreary waiting for its close. Then there are the great army of parents, whose heart-strings are wrung with pity at the little eyes which may never see, the little ears which may never hear, the little feet which may never skip or run, and the mute tongues which may never syllable the sweet words, "Father!" "Mother!" Then |
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