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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Woman As She Should Be, by Mary E. Herbert
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Woman As She Should Be
or, Agnes Wiltshire
Author: Mary E. Herbert
Release Date: June 4, 2005 [EBook #15982]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOMAN AS SHE SHOULD BE ***
Produced by Early Canadiana Online, Robert Cicconetti,
Janet Blenkinship and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
WOMAN AS SHE SHOULD BE;
OR,
AGNES WILTSHIRE.
BY
MARY E. HERBERT,
AUTHOR OF "�OLIAN HARP," "SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A HALIFAX BELLE," &c.
I saw her on a nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman, too;
Her household motions light and free,--
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good,
For human nature's daily food,
For transient pleasures, artless wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
--WORDSWORTH.
HALIFAX, N.S.:
PUBLISHED BY MARY E. HERBERT.
1861.
CAMBRIDGE, MASS.:
MILES & DILLINGHAM.
Printers and Stereotypers
CHAPTER I.
The Sabbath day was drawing to a close, as Agnes Wiltshire sat at her
chamber window, absorbed in deep and painful thought. The last rays of
the sun lighted up the garden overlooked by the casement,--if garden it
could be called,--a spot that had once been most beautiful, when young
and fair hands plucked the noxious weed, and took delight in nursing
into fairest life, flowers, whose loveliness might well have vied with
any; but, long since, those hands had mouldered into dust, and the spot
lay neglected; yet, in spite of neglect, beautiful still. There was no
enclosure to mark it from the fields beyond, that stretched, far as the
eye could discern, till lost in a rich growth of woods, but a few
ornamental trees and graceful shrubs, with here and there a plot, now
gay, with autumn flowers, alone kept alive, in the heart of the
beholder, a remembrance of its purpose. A quiet scene of rural beauty
it was, and so thought the maiden, as, rousing from her reverie, she
gazed on garden, fields, and distant woods, but more lovingly and
lingeringly dwelt her glance on a lake that lay embosomed between the
meadow and the grove, partly skirted by trees that grew even to its
edge, and partly by the rich grass, whose vivid color betrayed the
influence of those placid waters, that now reflected every glowing tint,
and every delicate hue of the peerless sunset sky.
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