Many a weary woman has turned from such reading to her narrow
duties, feeling that life is not all work, and with renewed hope in
the possibilities of the future.
Doubtless a certain amount of purely idle curiosity is mingled with
the other feelings. I remember quite well showing our city sights
to a bored party of Western friends, and failing entirely to amuse
them, when, happening to mention as we drove up town, "there goes
Mr. Blank," (naming a prominent leader of cotillions), my guests
nearly fell over each other and out of the carriage in their
eagerness to see the gentleman of whom they had read so much, and
who was, in those days, a power in his way, and several times after
they expressed the greatest satisfaction at having seen him.
I have found, with rare exceptions, and the experience has been
rather widely gathered all over the country, that this interest -
or call it what you will - has been entirely without spite or
bitterness, rather the delight of a child in a fairy story. For
people are rarely envious of things far removed from their grasp.
You will find that a woman who is bitter because her neighbor has a
girl "help" or a more comfortable cottage, rarely feels envy
towards the owners of opera-boxes or yachts. Such heart-burnings
(let us hope they are few) are among a class born in the shadow of
great wealth, and bred up with tastes that they can neither
relinquish nor satisfy.
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