New Aims in Life

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"But there is within the human mind an active and powerful principle, which awakens the dormant faculties, lights up the brain, and launches forth to gather up from the wide realm of nature, the very essence of what every human bosom pines for, when it aspires to a higher state of existence, and feels the insufficiency of this world." Mrs. Ellis.

"Louisa, are you almost ready?" asked a young lady, raising her eyes from the book she was reading, and glancing at her friend, who stood before the mirror of her dressing-room, preparing to go out.

"I shall not be long, Catharine," was the reply, made in a sweet voice. "I'm afraid that book doesn't interest you much, for you look at me, yawn, then read a few moments, in regular rotation."

"Do I? Well, I don't know what I do, and what is worse, I can't find out what I want to do. I believe I have got that fashionable illness, boredom; so I have called this afternoon to take you out walking in Broadway with me. That is the proper and fashionable remedy, is it not?"

"I believe it is in vogue; as for its propriety — I leave that to your own judgment."

"O, I don't care for punctilious proprieties! if I can be amused by watching a thousand different countenances, and thus killing time, it is all I ask."

"It may be all you ask, but is it all you ought to ask?"

"No moralizing, if you please; I came that you might impart to me a little of your gaiety. So don't be serious, and make me feel more doleful than I do at present."

"Have you any real cause for unhappiness, Kate?" Louisa inquired, turning round and scanning closely the countenance of her friend.

"No cause, except what everyone has, or might have. Everybody thinks I am very happy; I have kind parents, wealth, and liberty to spend my time as I may choose. I have you, dear Louisa! yet my soul asks for something more. Will its cravings ever be satisfied?

Louisa did not answer, but an expression of sadness went over her countenance. It was the first time Catharine Bloomer had ever, in the slightest degree, given vent to her real feelings. The friends had generally been mirthful and cheerful in each other's society. Now the face of Catharine was touched with melancholy; her fine, proud features, were softened and subdued. She was silent for a while, then arousing herself, she rose and approached her friend, saying, in her usual careless tone, "Louisa, I really believe you are alittle vain; I wonder how long you have stood before that glass, pulling your bonnet this way and that, to make it set straight and look pretty."

"A singular kind of vanity," Louisa retorted, with a smile, "for I was scarcely conscious of what I was doing."

"You want me to believe that speech, do you, you vain little gipsy?" said Catherine, touching her chin, with an air of playful fondness.

"Yes, I want you to believe it, and I further desire you to retract your words, or we will surely have a duel."

"Suppose we have a duel, then, by way of variety. Here is my challenge;" and, stooping down, Catharine picked up a tiny satin slipper that was peeping from beneath the bureau.

"I accept your pledge, most noble knight," replied Louisa, seizing her slipper. After flinging it in a corner, she threw her arm around her companion's waist, and said, as she led her from the room, "Now I am ready to go out in Broadway, and fight as befits a valiant lady chevalier. But, Catharine, to be serious — do you think I am vain?" For a moment the young girl addressed was silent, her lips closed firmly in thought. Presently she answered, with a frank decision,

"Yes, I think you are." After a moment's pause, she added, "You know we entered into a compact to tell each other our faults, when we noticed them."

"Yes," was the brief and somewhat cold reply. They gained the street, and walked about half a block without speaking. Louisa was slightly hurt, and the deep glow of mortification was upon her cheek. But she was an affectionate girl, and loved her friend too well to feel more than a momentary coldness towards her. She broke their unusual silence by pressing Catharine's hand, and saying, "Thank you! you are a true friend. Whenever you think I betray any vanity — please tell me of it. I am sure I desire to get rid of all my faults."

"I know it. I would be a different person, perhaps, if my desires were as active as yours always are. I see my own faults — and the faults of my neighbors. But, in regard to myself, I am indolent — careless. Just give me enjoyment, and I suppose I am too indifferent whether my faults or virtues are called into action. You never tell me of my faults, Louisa, except the single one of sarcasm; I am sure I have a thousand more than you."

"Well, I think it is very hard to listen with patience and right feeling, to one who is pointing out our faults. Do you know, Kate, I was almost indignant, when I found you were in earnest about my vanity. It is so very agreeable to have your friends think you are just perfect."

"Do you think so?" laughed her friend, shaking her head a little.

"Don't you? Is praise and admiration disagreeable to you? I thought you were proud of your gifts. I have seen your eye flash with pleasure, when your mental superiority was felt and acknowledged."

Catharine answered by an impatient "pshaw!" and thus the subject was dismissed. By this time they had reached the house of an acquaintance. Louisa paused, and, laying her hand upon Catharine's arm, said, "Suppose we give Mrs. Belcher a call? she would not like it, if she knew we passed her house without stopping in."

"Just as you please," returned Catharine; "I am perfectly indifferent."

"You are in a strange mood just now," Louisa replied, as they ascended the steps; "not very complimentary to Mrs. Belcher, I must say."

"I tell the truth — even if I am not very complimentary. The society of Mrs. Belcher never adds one whit to my enjoyment; why should I be otherwise than indifferent? I wish society was so organized that we would never be obliged to say all sorts of pretty things about the weather, fashions, etc., to people for whom we don't care a fig. It almost makes me sick to rattle on an hour or two, about things in which I have no interest whatever. I would rather be alone, fifty times, than with such people. I wish there was a little more independence in the world."

"Quiet, my dear!" said Louisa, touching the shoulder of her friend, on hearing a hand on the knob of the door. They were speedily ushered into the elegantly furnished parlors of Mrs. Belcher, where they were left alone for a time.

"I feel very fluent this morning," playfully remarked Catharine, throwing herself on the sofa; "I presume you have observed it, friend Louisa. I could mount this sofa, at the shortest notice, and deliver an extempore lecture on the evils of visiting uncongenial acquaintances."

"Kate, you are too bad!" returned Louisa, trying to suppress a smile. "I have a good long lecture to give you, and you shall have it, depend upon it. Now promise me you will be a good girl during this call, and not act as if you were perfectly unconscious of all that is said. Be a good listener. I don't ask you to talk much. You appear like a different person when you care to please, and when you do not."

"I promise anything to please you. But, then, afterwards I shall argue with you, until you come over to my side of the question, and — "

"How?" interrupted Louisa.

"Why, this is my doctrine. I don't approve of spending hours in visiting and receiving people who are the very opposites of ourselves, in tastes, dispositions, and everything else which makes social fellowship delightful. Why can't we cut short such acquaintance, and mingle only with those more congenial? It would be better for us. I hate this vapid, fashionable society."

"You know we should not regard our own happiness entirely, in the company we go in."

"Yes, yes, I know that. But we confer very little happiness where we are not happy ourselves."

"It is selfishness which prevents us from being glad that we can give pleasure to anyone. You know, if you should exert yourself, you could impart a great deal of pleasure even to the class of people you speak of. Don't yield to what you consider silly in them, only so far as you may, by this means, turn them your own way, to more sensible things."

"I can't take the trouble, Louise; it is out of the question. I can't stem the torrent, when it is so little worth stemming. So I fall in with it — or pass by."

The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Belcher. "Ah! ladies, good morning! how are you?" she exclaimed, tripping lightly into the room. "Very happy to see you. Charming day, is it not? I intend to go out shopping before this fine weather is over. Can't you take off your hats, young ladies, and stay to dinner?"

The visitors politely excused themselves. "O, Stewart has got some of the sweetest muslins!" the lady went on to say. "They are splendid for dresses. Have you seen them?"

"No, we have not," answered both the girls.

"Well, I can't find out whether straw hats or silk are going to be worn most. Do you know, Miss Bloomer?"

"I really do not," the young lady replied, looking intently in Mrs. Belcher's face, and speaking in a slow, puzzled tone, as if her ignorance was cause for serious and thoughtful anxiety. Louisa bit her lip, to keep from smiling. Mrs. Belcher then turned to Miss Hollman, and said, "My milliner says straw will be worn most, but I don't like to run the risk of making a purchase on her assurance alone. What do you think?"

"I can't tell, I am sure. I have not thought much about it." There was a short pause, which Catharine broke by saying, "Shall you leave the city early this summer, Mrs. Belcher?"

"I shall leave in July for the Springs. I would surely die if I were not there. I wonder who will lead the fashions this year? I would like to know."

"Perhaps you will, Mrs. Belcher," suggested Catharine, gravely.

"O, no!" replied the lady, with a pleased smile. "I suppose I must be satisfied with having been the belle before I was married."

"Ah! were you ever the belle?" questioned Catharine in real astonishment, for she had not imagined the uninteresting face of the lady before her had ever belonged to a bright particular star.

"When such things are past, young ladies, we feel free to talk about them. Yes, I was the belle at Saratoga for several summers." No reply was made to this. Each of the visitors had intuitively decided in her own mind that Mrs. Belcher had only been the belle in her own dreams. After a little more conversation, the young ladies arose to go. "Well," said Mrs. Belcher, as they stood in the hall, "don't you incline to think that straw hats will be worn most?"

"It is highly probable they may," returned Louisa.

"Wouldn't you think they would, Miss Bloomer?"

"I think they will be worn a great deal."

"Then you would advise me to get straw, instead of silk?"

"That is my advice," was the reply of Catharine, who thus hoped to bring the tantalizing discussion to an end.

"And what do you say?" the fashionable lady then appealed to Louisa.

"I say, be guided entirely by your own taste, Mrs. Belcher. I would rather not advise, in such matters."

"O, I never blame anybody that advises me, let the consequences be what they may! So tell me your candid opinion."

"I must be excused. You will excuse me, won't you? We must go now; good-day!"

The damsels hurried off, as if they expected every moment to be called back, in order to sit in judgment upon new bonnets.

"I'm positively nervous!" said Catharine, hurrying along the street with quick, impatient steps. "Do tell me, Louisa, what earthly good that call has done? I am sure you must agree with me now, that there is no use in visiting such harassing people. I feel really fidgety after it. This is the last time I go there."

"I don't think Mrs. Belcher would benefit anyone very much, I must confess," replied Louisa. "And I will further say, I don't think you would either, just now."

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