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Has not this same unsatisfied passion for excitement impelled women into paths as full of benefaction as those consecrated by the hallowing steps of a Florence Nightingale, a Miss Dix, or a Grace Darling? It is not too much to say that we have known instances in which it has produced these happy results; and, were it fitting, we could cite them to vindicate an assertion as true as it is bold.
That very disquiet—that sleepless activity which we condemn in Adeline—is but the curbless impulse of a vigorous spirit to do something, to feel something, to be conscious of its own powers of thought, feeling and action. That ceaseless leaping forward, and leaping upward, which belong to such temperaments is not in itself an evil. The same up-springing, unslumbering motion causes all creation to palpitate, and expand, and fructify.
Let us not then rashly rebuke the restless excitability of an untrained and ardent nature. Let us not say to such a being as Adeline: "You shall forego all these varied excitements for which you yearn—which you seem to need to render your life agreeable—nay, endurable! You shall not partake of amusements which you find so exhilarating. You shall not read books which engross you so entirely. You shall not enjoy the society of those who have such power over your emotions!"
Instead of these admonitions and restrictions, give her wholesome and invigorating, ay, and suf-