From the fern by the way side to the study of psychology--the most fascinating of all studies--there is something in which all can interest themselves, but more especially for women, for to me this seems woman's kingdom. With much quicker perceptive faculties than men, they are better able to see the finer more delicate portion of nature's handiwork and mysteries. Unfortunately in small towns if a woman tries to investigate spiritualism, she is immediately called a spiritualist. If she takes an interest in mesmerism and psychology, she is called visionary. If she takes an interest in the religious discussion of the day, she is called an atheist. If she takes an interest in pathology she is called _strong minded_, and who does not abhor the so-called strong minded woman. A woman may be essentially womanly and take an interest in all these things. Brain was given to woman for reason and investigation, and "I rather choose to endure the wounds of those darts which envy casteth at novelty, than to go on safely and sleepily in the easy ways of ancient mistakings." Life cannot but be pleasant to those who are fond of books, "our silent companions." They speak a language all their own and we can find companionship for every mood, grave, gay, dreamy, discursive, philosophical and scientific. If you are a busy worker in a large city and wish a breath of country air, a breeze from the meadow, a ramble along a country road, read Whittier's "Among the Hills." "Pleasant it was when woods were green And winds were soft and low, To lie amid some sylvan scene Where shadows dark--and sunlight sheen, Alternate come and go." If you are weary with brain work and seek repose, read Longfellow. "And the cares that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal away." If in an heroic mood read Milton. "For with thee Certain my resolution is to die, How can I live without thee? how forgo Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined." If fortune has smiled upon you and flattery falls sweet on your ear, and you are in danger of forgetting the final end of all ambition read "Grays Elegy." "Can storied urn, or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust Or flattery sooth the dull cold ear of death?" If you wish to be transported to the mystic cloud-land of fancy, read Hawthorne. "Sleeping or waking, we hear not the airy footsteps of the strange things that almost happen. He knew not that a phantom of wealth had thrown a golden hue upon its waters. Nor that one of death had threatened to crimson them with his blood, all in the brief hour since he lay down to sleep."