Hour after hour I find myself saying, mentally, did not my good physician assure me that a voyage would cure this incipient bronchitis? Did not those who love me, and are wiser than I, advise me to come? Am I not included in a pleasant party?—with a lady whom I have long admired, her accomplished clerical son, whose mind enriches whatever it contemplates, and a still younger gentleman, the son of esteemed friends, travelling for improvement? Who, unattended by their own immediate family, might expect to combine more genial elements of protection, classic ntercourse,
or social delight?
Nevertheless, I persist in saying, that women who must needs take voyages, and visit foreign parts, had better do so before the strongest ties of the heart have bound them. Let them go as waifs, and all will be well enough. But to wait till the thrilling word of Mother has been breathed into their soul, and then get out of the reach of that melody, over the " hollow-sounding, melancholy main," that is a mistake. Out of the reach of that melody, did I say? And where would that be? If they took the wings of the morning, and fled to the uttermost parts of the sea, even there would be that eternal whisper in the heart, of "Mother! Mother!"
And this bright morning, the third of August, is my daughter's birthday, the day that first brought me the " great mother-love," stronger than death. Sweet Mary! never before has my hand failed to spread for thee the pleasant gifts of this consecrated season. And
