d. But such a tradition, whether actually a fact or not, is a
tribute to the affection and strength of Eleanor's character; and all
historians agree that she instilled no poison into the life of king or
country. As a wife, a mother, and a queen, Eleanor of Castile stands
high on the record of the women of the Middle Ages.

Coming from Westminster Abbey, in the spring of 1856, we stood one day
at a window in the Strand, and watched a multitude which no man could
number, pulsing through that great artery of the mighty heart of London.
It was the day of the great Peace celebration, and a holiday. Hour after
hour the mighty host swept on, in undiminished numbers. The place where
we stood was Charing Cross, and our thoughts went back seven hundred
years, when Edward, following the mortal remains of his beloved Eleanor,
erected on this spot, then a country suburb of London, the last of that
line of crosses which marked those places where the mournful procession
paused on its way from Hereby to Westminster. It was the cross of the
dear queen, _la chere reine_, which time and changes of language have
since corrupted into Charing Cross. Through this pathway crowds have
trodden for many centuries, and few remember that its name is linked
with the queenly dead or with a kingly sorrow. Thus it is, as we hasten
on through the busy thoroughfares of life from age to age, even as one
of our own poets hath said,--

"We pass, and heed each other not."

In these pages we have made some record of woman's work in past
centuries, and also caught glimpses of duties, loves, hopes, fears, and
sorrows not unlike our own. A wider sphere is now accorded, and a deeper
responsibility devolves upon woman to fill it wisely and well. We should
never forget that, as far as they were faithful to the duties appointed
to them, they elevated their sex to a higher and nobler position, and
therein performed the best work of the women of the Middle Ages.

PASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S NOTE-BOOKS.

IX.

Concord, _Thursday, Sept. 1, 1842._--Mr. Thoreau dined with us
yesterday.... He is a keen and delicate observer of nature,--a genuine
observer,--which, I suspect, is almost as rare a character as even an
original poet; and Nature, in return for his love, seems to adopt him as
her especial child, and shows him secrets which few others are allowed
to witness. He is familiar with beast, fish, fowl, and reptile, and has
strange stories to tell of adven