Girls and Women | Page 2

the girls and that they loved her. She did know that she helped her
family--with her money. Her spirit helped them unconsciously still
more.
When at last she gave up the minor aim of her life, and no longer tried
to be learned or famous, she had her energies set free for many little
things which had previously been crowded out. It was easy now to find
a leisure hour to help any one who needed sympathy. There was time to
watch the beauty of the sunset or of the falling snow. If she had no time
to scramble through a volume of a new poet, she could still learn line
by line some favorite old poem, and let it sink into her heart, so that it
did its work thoroughly. If she could not find time to learn the history
of all the artists from the time of Phidias to the last New York
exhibition, yet when a beautiful picture was before her she could look
at it thoughtfully without feeling that she must hurry on to the next. In
this way, perhaps, she gained a more absolute culture than in the way
she would have chosen, a culture of thought and character which told
on every one who came near her.
She was always climbing up towards God, and his help never failed her.
The climbing was hard, yet the pathway was radiant with light. Those
who were stumbling along in the darkness by her side saw the light and
were able to walk erect.
I cannot say she was altogether happy with so many of her fine powers
unused. Perhaps she was not even quite right in sacrificing herself
completely. Sometimes she fostered selfishness in others while she
tried to cast it out of herself. But so far as she could see she had no
choice. If she had refused the sacrifice, it would have been by giving up
the grand aim of her life. Her minor aim was good in itself, but it
conflicted with something better. Those who did not know her life
intimately thought it a failure. Those who saw deeper knew that her
utter failure in what was non-essential had been the condition of
essential success.
I remember another brilliant girl who did win her way. She was poor
and plain and friendless, but she won wealth and fame and friends, and

then, with all this success, she blossomed into beauty. She had a
struggle, but she came out victorious. I think she was happy. She was
glad to be beautiful and to be loved. She had music and pictures and
travel in abundance, and she appreciated these things. She liked to give
to the poor, and she did give bountifully and with a grace and
sweetness better than the gift.
She painted pictures which everybody admired, and that pleased her.
She had dreamed of all this when a child. She had genius and she had
perseverance. Her aim was to be a famous artist, and she did not flinch
from any work or sacrifice which would help her to that end. So far all
was well, and she reached the goal. As there was nothing to prevent her
carrying out secondary plans at the same time, she could be cultivated
and charitable without giving up her great object.
She wanted to be good besides. She never deliberately decided for the
wrong against the right. And yet a noble life was not first in her
thoughts. When she was a school-girl she had a lover who was like a
better self. By and by he chose to study for the ministry, while she went
to the city to try her fortune. So far they shared every thought and
feeling and hope. She knew she was a better woman with him than with
any one else. But at last he was called to a remote country parish, and
for himself was satisfied with it. But she--how then could she be his
wife? Her heart was torn in the strife. Some women whose vision was
less keen would have married him, hoping that in some way they might
still carry out their own ambition. But she was at a critical point in her
career and she knew it. She had just begun to be known personally to
influential people, and her name was beginning to be known to the
public. She dared not risk leaving her post. She wrote her lover a
charming letter,--for she did love him,--and told him how it was.
"When I have won my victory," said she, "I shall be a free woman. And
you will love me just as much when I have more to give you than I
have now. But now I have my little talent confided to me,