Having thus given up her hereditary crown, Christina left Sweden and travelled over many of the countries of Europe.  Everywhere, she was received with great ceremony, because she was the daughter of the renowned Gustavus, and had herself been a powerful queen.  Perhaps you would like to know something about her personal appearance, in the latter part of her life.  She is described as wearing a man’s vest, a short gray petticoat, embroidered with gold and silver, and a black wig, which was thrust awry upon her head.  She wore no gloves, and so seldom washed her hands that nobody could tell what had been their original color.  In this strange dress, and, I suppose, without washing her hands or face, she visited the magnificent court of Louis the Fourteenth.

She died in 1689.  None loved her while she lived, nor regretted her death, nor planted a single flower upon her grave.  Happy are the little girls of America, who are brought up quietly and tenderly, at the domestic hearth, and thus become gentle and delicate women!  May none of them ever lose the loveliness of their sex, by receiving such an education as that of Queen Christina!

Emily, timid, quiet, and sensitive, was the very reverse of little Christina.  She seemed shocked at the idea of such a bold and masculine character as has been described in the foregoing story.

“I never could have loved her,” whispered she to Mrs. Temple; and then she added, with that love of personal neatness, which generally accompanies purity of heart:—­“It troubles me to think of her unclean hands!”

“Christina was a sad specimen of womankind, indeed,” said Mrs. Temple.  “But it is very possible for a woman to have a strong mind, and to be fitted for the active business of life, without losing any of her natural delicacy.  Perhaps, some time or other, Mr. Temple will tell you a story of such a woman.”

It was now time for Edward to be left to repose.  His brother George shook him heartily by the hand, and hoped, as he had hoped twenty times before, that to-morrow or the next day, Ned’s eyes would be strong enough to look the sun right in the face.

“Thank you, George,” replied Edward, smiling; “but I am not half so impatient as at first.  If my bodily eyesight were as good as yours, perhaps I could not see things so distinctly with my mind’s eye.  But now there is a light within which shows me the little Quaker artist, Ben West, and Isaac Newton with his windmill, and stubborn Sam Johnson, and stout Noll Cromwell, and shrewd Ben Franklin, and little Queen Christina with the Swedes kneeling at her feet.  It seems as if I really saw these personages face to face.  So I can bear the darkness outside of me pretty well.”

When Edward ceased speaking, Emily put up her mouth and kissed him as her farewell for the night.

“Ah, I forgot!” said Edward, with a sigh.  “I cannot see any of your faces.  What would it signify to see all the famous people in the world, if I must be blind to the faces that I love?”