gh a lady may be familiar with
Shakespeare, it does not follow that she will discuss _Hamlet_
in social gatherings.

If she reads Greek as readily as she does her mother tongue, you may
rest assured she will not mention Homer in ordinary conversation, for
a cultivated woman readily recognises the fitness of things, and
accords a due deference to the tastes of others. She has her club and
her friends, as do the gentlemen of her acquaintance, but her children
are not neglected from the fact that she sometimes thinks of other
things. She is a helpmeet to her husband, and not a plaything, or a
slave. If duty calls her to the kitchen, she goes cheerfully, and,
moreover, the cook will not dread to see her coming; or if that
important person be absent, the table will be supplied with just as
good bread, and just as delicate pastry, as if the lady of the house
did not understand the chemicals of their composition.

If trouble comes, she bears it bravely, for the cultured woman has a
philosophy which is equal to any emergency, and she does the best she
can on all occasions.

If her husband leaves her penniless, she will, if possible, clothe her
children with her pen, but if her literary wares are a drug on the
market, she will turn bravely to other fields, and find her daily
bread made sweet by thankfulness. She does not hesitate to hold out
her hands to help a fellow-creature, either man or woman, for she is
in all things womanly--a wife to her husband and a mother to her
children in the truest sense of the words.

Her knowledge of the classics does not interfere with the making of
dainty draperies for her home, and though she may be appointed to read
a paper before her club on some scholarly theme, she will listen just
as patiently to tales of trouble from childish lips, and will tie up
little cut fingers just as sympathetically as her neighbour who folds
her arms and who broadly hints that "wimmen's spear is to hum!"

Whether the literary woman be robed in silk and sealskin, or whether
she rejoices in the possession of only one best gown, she may,
nevertheless, be contented and happy.

Whether she lives in a modest cottage, or in a fashionable home,
she may be the same sweet woman, with cheerful face and pleasant
voice--with a broad human sympathy which makes her whole life glad.

Be she princess, or Cinderella, she may be still her husband's
confidant and cherished friend, to whom he may confide his business
trouble