in a word, she must make the same appearance, though her husband has not half the income of theirs, and her family has to suffer in all the essentials of the home life. With such a woman as this the whole of life is a sham; a hiding away within doors of all the tags and ends of shabbiness, that the world outside may receive a false impression, and give her credit for an income which she has not got, and which every one who cares to think knows she has not got. Oh, the pitiful folly and meanness of this kind of life!-the misery that follows on this fatal "fear of the world!"-the ruined homes, the degraded lives, the energies and powers debased to the mere bolstering up of lies, which this passion for appearance has engendered. We have all seen instances of the like, humiliating and lamentable beyond words, but for the most part impossible to reform. A terror of the world is, no doubt, excellent as one of the bases of society, but it is bad when of such servile excess of practice that freedom and individuality are crushed beneath it. Most noble is that type of womanhood which considers no cause more righteous than that of the honest, independent support of self, or of those nearest in blood and affection, and for these objects, and these only, relies upon the aid and favour, and despises the malice and uncharitableness of the world.

To return, however, to the original question, what are educated women to do to earn a subsistence? A few years since Miss Bessie Parkes was among the first to energetically review the subject, and has shown us by what means they are thrown upon the world to get their daily bread. After alluding to the theory in civilized life, that the women of the upper and middle classes are supported by their male relatives, daughters by their fathers, wives by their husbands, she says: "If a lady has to work for her livelihood, it is universally considered to be a misfortune-an exception to the ordinary rule. All good fathers wish to provide for their daughters; all good husbands think it their bounden duty to keep their wives. All our laws are framed strictly in accordance with this hypothesis, and all our social axioms adhere to it more strictly still. We make no room in our social framework for any other idea; and in no moral or practical system do the exceptions more lamentably and thoroughly prove the rule. Women of the lower class may work, must work in the house, if not out of it. But among us, it is judged best to carefully train the woman as the moraliser, the refiner, the spiritual element." Miss Parkes then proves the existence of the distress resulting from this artificial system, and after enumerating a few sad scenes, thus proceeds: "Here you see are ten cases of most deplorable destitution, arising from the most ordinary causes. Would to God there were anything remarkable in them! but fathers fail, and brothers speculate every day, and the orphan nephews and nieces are left to the unmarried as a legacy from the beloved dead. There is nothing unusual here; and it is also amply proved that the savings of the average governess cannot support her in her old age. The very highest class of governess is highly paid, just because there are so few; if the number increased they would not command great salaries; and the pittance accorded to the average is an irrefragable fact. Surely, then, in a country 2 c

VOL. II.

where the chances of provision for women are so fearfully uncertain, parents in the middle classes ought, firstly, to train their daughters to some useful art, however humble; and, secondly, to repress all desire of forcing them into tuition because it is more genteel'" Miss Parkes is right here. It is one of the vices of our middle-class society that there is a constant searching after the genteel. This weakness has wrecked more hearts than we should like to enumerate. Even in the lower strata of the society in question, there is an irreverent disregard for laborious work; hence the overcrowding of various branches of industry. Our best mechanics come from the lower ranks, because with them soiling their hands is neither considered a disgrace nor distasteful. The men who fight our battles by land and sea, who cross the ocean and the earth to found mighty empires, regard labour as the best of blessings.. Give us, as "Caviare," in his poem of "The People," exultantly demands,

"Give us, instead of puling rank,

Rich-scented, plumed, and curled,
The tinker boy, who makes his tools
Clash marches round the world!"

We are not, however, to be understood as advocating any displacement of labour proper to men; we say, let women have women's work, and men pursue those callings which require higher skill and greater strength than women usually possess. We only contend, that the unequal distribution of work of a light kind presses with undue severity upon female labour. We also urge that the morbid craving for the "genteel" by lads and young men, and the foolish, if not criminal, encouragement of it by their parents, materially contributes to the depression of educated female labour, and by its pernicious example inflicts a serious injury on society at large. Already, however, thanks to the unwearied and unselfish exertions of Miss Parkes and Miss Emily Faithful, their staffs of energetic and willing collaborateurs, and the hearty co-operation of the Press, the great social question regarding the true mission of woman and the amelioration of her present anomalous position, has been argued with such ability and deliberation, that we see everything to anticipate its ultimate and satisfactory solution. We have but to add, in conclusion, that it will be rather surprising if, for the future, any damsel will be found in the Irish metropolis ignorant of French and Italian, and perhaps of Hindustani and Arabic, when all that is necessary to acquire a knowledge of such accomplishments is to fetch the daily materiel for their disinterested preceptor's cuisine, and hand him pens, ink, and stationery.

FLOWERS FROM FOREIGN FIELDS.

SONG OF A SEA-FLOWER OF THE PACIFIC. "And thou,

Ione, shall sing us fragments of sea music."-SHELLEY.

On the laughing wave of the Summer sea,
When its azure breast is glowing,
And the wind in the south sings merrily,
My floating leaves are blowing;

I left the land where I loved to dwell

For the Summer sea and my mermaid's cell.

Oh! I love the sea and its marvels vast,
Its storms and its Winter glory,

When it mounts the sky, while the northern blast
Sweeps wild through its billows hoary;

I left the land, where I loved to dwell,
For the deep, deep sea, and my mermaid's cell.

The monstrous form of the mighty whale
I gaze upon in wonder;

But I fear the scale of the shark's war mail,
As he rushes my broad leaves under;

I have left the land, that I once loved well,
For the deep sea-wave and my mermaid's cell.

The nautilus comes, with his oary feet,

And paddles around me, playing,

And the flying fish, ere she soars to greet

Some Peri of ocean straying,

From his deep sea-home, where his love doth sleep
On her amber couch, which the sea-birds weep.

And the Halcyon broods o'er my rocking breast,
As she dreams of the coming storm;

And the beautiful Dolphin loves to rest
Beneath my sheltering form.

Oh! who would love on the land to dwell,
The sea for
me, and my mermaid's cell!

And when coming eve o'er the western wave
Spreads a sheet of golden splendour,

My mermaid leaves her coral cave,

For the mild light, calm and tender;

And she sings to me, "Hast thou come to dwell
With thy mermaid love, in her coral cell ?"

The phosphor gleams of the midnight deep,
As some bark through the water dashing,
Play o'er my couch, and illume my sleep,

Like sunbursts round me flashing;

I have left the land that I loved so well,
Oh! the sea for me-to the land farewell!

I am kissed by the lips of the morning sun,
As he peers o'er the eastern waters,
I am kissed ev'ry eve when his course is run
Ere he sleeps with our ocean daughters;
Oh! who would love on the land to dwell,
Yes, the sea for me-to the land farewell!

Often my mermaid sings a wild song,
As she braids her hair at even,

While the answering echoes' sweet ding dong
Peal soft as the bells of heaven;

And up thro' the wave, from the Triton's shell,
A dirge I hear 'tis the mariner's knell!

Farewell to thee land and thy lovely flowers,

Which I love with affection true;

Now I bloom for the sea, live in gem-wreathed bowers,
Floral beauties of earth, adieu!

Oh! flowers of my youth, farewell! fare ye well!
Hark! my mermaid is calling-adieu-farewell!

.

SONG OF THE WHITE ROSE OF GREECE.

Return, ah, me! return!' the wind passed by

On which those accents died, faint, far, and lingeringly."

THE pale-faced flower that beauty loves
When beauty's in distress-

It looks as it would share her woe,

That woe without redress.

The flower of silent, suffer
That patient flower an
My sweetest song in g
Breathes something

The cheerful strains of

Sweet sounds of one
Less please me than the

That charms the list

I'd rather see the meek, fond dove,
Than the proud eagle fly;

And more I love the light of eve
Than glare of noonday sky.

Thy peerless blush, bright sister mine,
So beautiful to see,

Hath in mine eyes less loveliness

Than the milk-white lilie.
Upon this grave, 'mid fun'ral flow'rs,
I hang my stainless head,

An emblem of the purity

Of the sweet virgin dead.

She loved me well, that gentle one,
And the cold winter thro'
She sheltered me from storm and rain,
Till skies were warm and blue.
Her mother on that grave hath wept,
And cried, "come, darling, come;"
One answering sigh the young betrothed
Implored, but she was dumb.

And she is gone. Shall all things fair
Fade so and leave no trace?
And only I, the White Rose flower,
Now mark her resting place!
The flower of silent, suffering love,
That patient flower am I;

My sweetest song in gayest hour,
Breathes something of a sigh.

JOHN DUGGAN.

DEAD RECKONING.

A PLEA FOR THE LIFE-BOAT INSTITUTION.

THE shivering citizens who hurry homewards in these wet and cold November nights, and deem it a hardship to be of necessity exposed to the inclemency of a dreary season, are really by no means so badly off as they are accustomed to suppose. Indeed, the many thousands engaged in mercan tile or literary pursuits, having stated hours of labour, and knowing precisely

*In parts of Greece a beautiful and affecting superstition is yet observed at the burial of a young female. The mother, or it may be the betrothed, approaches her grave, and in order to ascertain if she be really dead, pronounces in a voice of the most touching entreaty, the simple words, "Aaa, 12λa,” (“come, come.") If she remains deaf to this pathetic appeal no doubt exists that the virgin is indeed dead.