mong the clowns
And roughs provincial. Go and pack your trunk.
Fool your own opportunities away;
You shall not thrust your sister out of hers.'

"I did not pack my trunk; another suitor,
One twice as rich as Dudley, kindled hopes
Anew in my poor mother's breast; and so
Susan was kept at school another season,
And I was put upon the course once more,
My training perfect and my harness new!

"Who could object to Arthur Pennington?
Son of a wealthy manufacturer,
A type he was of English adolescence,
Trained by harmonious culture to the fulness
Of all that Nature had supplied; a person
That did not lack one manly grace; a mind
Which took the mould that social pressure gave,
Without one protest native to itself.
In the accepted, the conventional,
He looked for Truth, nor ever had a doubt
Whether she might not hide in some deep well
Rather than flaunt her modest purity
In dusty highways. With my disposition
To challenge all that human dogmatism
Imperious would impose upon my thought,
What pretty yoke-fellows for life should we,
Arthur and I, have been! Misled by hopes
Which were inspired too fondly by my mother,
He, too, proposed, and was of course rejected.

"Then the storm broke! The cup of my offences
Was overflowed at last. Now must I go--
Go, where she cared not; only disappear
From her domain; she washed her hands of me!
Hundreds of pounds had been invested in me,--
My dresses, jewelry, and entertainments,--
And here was the result! But no more money,
From her, must I expect; my father's income
Had not for years been equal to his outlays.
Any day he might be compelled to change
His style of living; all had been kept up
For the advantage of myself and sisters;
And here was all the gratitude I showed!

"This time my mother was in earnest; so
Now must I lay my plans to go at once.
Whither? to seek a transient home with one
Of my own married sisters? Ah! the thought
Of being dependent galled me like a spur.
No! go to work,--a voice within me said:
Think of the many thousands of your sex
Who, young and giddy, not equipped like you,
Are thrown upon the world to battle with it
As best they may! Now try your closet virtue;
See if your theory can stand the proof,--
If trial will not warp your sense of right.
When Poverty shall dog your every step,
And at your scanty or unwholesome meal
Sit down,