than was the subject of these remarks. Perhaps none of them, however, receive more valuable lessons at home.

We pause here, and drop the curtain upon Mary's childhood. Nearly fifty years pass, and quite another scene opens to our view.

On the morning of March 6th, 1849, the telegraphic wires carried the sad intelligence from city to city that the Principal of Mount Holyoke Female Seminary was no more. The mournful tidings spread far and wide, and tears were shed in many a peaceful dwelling. The death of a female is seldom announced with so many demonstrations of unfeigned sorrow. Through almost the entire United States there were some to mourn over the sorrowful intelligence. "Long ere this," wrote a woman in Montreal, "amid the hunting-grounds of the Sioux and the villages of the Cherokees, the tear of the missionary has wet the page which has told of her departure. The Sandwich Islander will ask why is his white teacher's eye dim, as she reads her American letters. The swarthy African will lament with his sorrowing guide, who cries, 'Help, Lord, for the godly ceaseth.' The cinnamon groves of Ceylon and the palm-trees of India overshadow her early-deceased missionary pupils, while those left to bear the burden and heat of the day will bewail the saint whose prayers and letters they so prized. Among the Nestorians of Persia, and at the base of Mount Olympus, will her name be breathed softly, as the household name of one whom God hath taken."

It was not strange that her death was the occasion of general sorrow. For, as the founder of the first thorough and extensive female seminary in the land, and the

teacher of more than three thousand pupils, she had justly earned a place in the affections of the wise and good. She had performed labours that would have prostrated almost any one of her sex, and introduced a new era in female education. She deserved the nation's tribute of respect. We may justly apply to her the poet's eulogy of the Princess Charlotte of Wales :

"A soul more spotless never claimed a tear;

A heart more tender, open, and sincere ;
A hand more ready blessings to bestow;
Beloved, lamented, and without a foe;

How prized in life, say ye who knew her well;

How wept in death, a nation's tears may tell."

Her remains were buried in a lovely spot on the Seminary grounds; and over them a beautiful monument of white Italian marble stands, bearing the following inscription :—

It seems scarcely possible, and yet it is true, that the little girl whose childhood we have sketched was this same MARY LYON. From her humble home among the hills she went forth at the call of duty; and what a bright mission was hers! A cloud obscured her rising

sun, but it set in splendour. Her morning of life was darkened by trial-its evening was lighted with a halo of glory.

How did Mary Lyon achieve this signal success? What elements of character enabled her to ascend to this high eminence of usefulness and honour? It is worth while to answer these questions, and this will be the object of the following pages. Not that we intend to confine our thoughts to her character alone, but only to make it stand forth as our guide, while we cluster around it numerous incidents from the lives of other distinguished women, in order to accomplish our purpose more successfully. Girls, no less than boys, need to know how they can make the most of life. It will aid them, to learn how others have lived and laboured. The strong points of female charaeter will thus be made to appear in their vigour and loveliness.

CHAPTER II.

A PURPOSE.

IN her girlhood, Mary Lyon resolved to improve her
mind. Her opportunities for acquiring knowledge, as
we have said, were limitied; but "where there's a will
there's a way." Before she was thirteen years old, plans
were formed which matured into a determined and
noble purpose.
There was not a time thereafter when
she lost sight of that one object—mental culture.
gleaned what knowledge she could in the district school,

She

H

1

and, as opportunity offered, went to a higher school, residing for the time being with some of her relatives, doing housework to pay her board. When she was fourteen years of age, she kept house for her unmarried brother, who paid her regular wages for her labour; these she saved, and with the addition of some money gained by her in teaching, was able to enter Sanderson Academy at Ashfield, where she obtained a good education.

In

We need not detail her course further at present. all that she did it was evident she had a definite object, which she laboured to accomplish. The older she grew, the more her soul was absorbed in her purpose. And, finally, she seemed to desire life only to render herself useful by teaching the young.

Contrast this feature of Mary Lyon's character with that of the majority of girls. How few of them form any definite purpose respecting their mission! The majority are perfectly aimless. Youth of the other sex are delinquent enough in this particular; but the case is much worse with girls. No doubt social maxims and customs tend to make them aimless: for society has not demanded that women should be educated definitely for particular spheres. It is expected that a boy will be disciplined in some chosen pursuit, so that when he becomes a man, he will be master of some trade or profession, and be able to support a family. But this is not expected of girls. For this reason, many of them grow up to womanhood, and become wives, without being qualified to superintend the preparation of even a good dinner. A woman would think herself peculiarly unfortunate to find herself wedded to a husband

who was not competent to manage any kind of business for supporting her. But many a man finds himself wedded to a wife who can neither sew, cook, bake, nor take care of her own children. She has never had any definite ideas about a woman's field of duty; indeed, she is educated to lead a butterfly's life, so that a wellformed purpose was entirely out of the question. Here is the secret of much unhappiness in the married state. A man marries a young woman of rank and beauty, supposing that he has found a helpmeet to aid and cheer him in the great work of life; but alas! he finds, too late, that she has no just conception of womanly duties, and is happy only when she is treated as a plaything, or a doll. It is not strange that he should feel sadly disappointed, especially when he considers that the alliance is for life. Perhaps, in order to minister to his wife's pleasure, he must increase his family expenses to a degree that becomes embarrassing; and this is another thorn in the flesh. One evil leads to another, until mutual sympathy of husband and wife is destroyed, and both are unhappy. And it is all the consequence of the aimless girlhood of her who became his wife. She was never taught to think she would ever be a woman, on whom grave responsibilities would devolve. She never had any proper views of life. to form definite ideas of future toils and duties, and model her character by certain high moral principles and aims, never entered her mind. She became such a woman as she happened to be, unless, perchance, a fashionable education made her as vain and useless as possible. One of this class replied to the interrogative, "What is the object of your life?" "To breathe."

That she ought