To young women industry is equally essential and commendable. An idle woman is a poor and worthless thing. For what does she imagine she was created? Of what service is she to the world? In what respect would not the world be as well without her? A _do-nothing_ young lady is most assuredly pitied and despised by those whose good opinion she is most anxious to secure. It is not enough that a young woman can play skilfully, sing delightfully, dance gracefully, dress fashionably, and has an abundant flow of "small talk." The world looks beyond these outward ornaments, and asks--Has she a good heart and gentle disposition? Is she affectionate and forbearing? Can she rule her temper and control her tongue? Does she respect and obey her parents? Has she a well-cultivated and well-stored mind? Is she industrious, prudent, economical? Is she able and willing to engage in household duties? Accomplishments are not to be overlooked. But the qualities above enumerated are essential, indispensable, to the character of a good daughter and a useful wife. "ACTION! _That's_ the word. The great world itself throbs with life. Action, untiring harmony pervades the Universe of God. The Creative Power has so ordained it. The physical formation of the world, and all therein, forbids inactivity. The vast machinery must move, or the whole cease to exist. Man was never designed to be a drone. Had he lived pure in the first Paradise, he could not have been idle. Sick or well, in cold or heat, day or night, he machine moves on, the heart, like a steam-engine, throbs away, and faithfully pumps its crimson currents unceasingly to every part of the animal frame. Action is one of the first elements of health and happiness. The mind will stagnate and engender moral miasma, as much as the pool never stirred by a tide or swept by the winds. "God has written action on the Heavens. Silent, but ceaseless, the worlds that gleam out upon us, keep on their course. Every orb follows the track marked out for it. The Ocean rolls and heaves. The spring gushes out from the hill-side and dances from rock to rock, and the brook hums and murmurs its melody as it goes. Upon the meadow, the springing grass tells of the process that annually clothes the turf with wealth and beauty. The leaves put out, rustle in the winds, and fall to their rest, while others follow. The fierce, fiery energy of the lightning writes the truth upon the scudding clouds. The formless waves that in the atmosphere ripple and dash against the cheek, tell of a restless ocean around us, a medium of health and sound. From the world that rolls, to the summer flies that float on the air and glance in the sun, the truth is proclaimed that all is activity. Man cannot be idle--should not."[3] [Footnote 3: T.W. Brown.]