She laid no claim to the title of a Blue—­she had not the most remote idea of being considered a literary lady.  She sang as the birds do in the bushes, for the mere pleasure of singing, and she was perfectly unconscious that others listened and admired her songs.

Independent of her love of music and poetry, she had many valuable mental and moral qualities.  Not among the least of these was a deep sympathy in the wants and sufferings of the poor, which she always endeavored to alleviate to the utmost of her power.  The selfish fear of infection never deterred her from visiting the abodes of her poor neighbors—­administering to their comfort when sick, and not unfrequently watching beside the pillow of the dying.  In the performance of these acts of charity, she was greatly encouraged and assisted by her worthy father.

When aunt Dorothy, in her cold egotism, raved about her niece endangering her life, and the lives of those around her, by going to infected houses, the Captain’s general answer was—­“Let the child alone, Dorothy; a good angel watches over her—­God will take care of his own.”

“So you said of her mother, Captain Whitmore, yet she lost her life by obstinately persisting in what she was pleased to call her duty.”

“If the good ship sunk while endeavoring to save the drowning crew of another,” said the poor Captain, wiping the dew from his spectacles, “she went down in a good cause, and a blessing has descended from above upon her child.”

One day, when Anthony had been remonstrating with Juliet for incurring so much danger while visiting the poor during a period of epidemic sickness, she replied, with her usual frankness,

“This from you, Mr. Anthony, who have devoted yourself to be an instructor of the poor, a friend of the friendless, a minister of Christ!—­how can I better employ my time than in striving to alleviate the sorrows that I cannot cure?  To tell you the truth, I cannot yield more to pleasure without spoiling my heart.  It is not that I am averse to innocent amusements, for no person enjoys them more.  But were I constantly to gratify my own selfish inclinations, I should soon lose my peace of mind, that dew of the soul, which is so soon absorbed in the heated atmosphere of the world.”

“If such devotion is what the worldly term enthusiasm, may its blessed inspiration ever continue to influence your actions!”

“Enthusiasm!” repeated the girl.  “Oh that I could convey to you in words what I feel to be the true definition of that much abused term.  Enthusiasm is the eternal struggling of our immortal against our mortal nature, which expands the wings of the soul towards its native heaven.  Enthusiasm!  Can anything great or good be achieved without it?  Can a man become a poet, painter, orator, patriot, warrior, or lover, without enthusiasm?  Can he become a Christian without it?  In man’s struggles to obtain fame, enthusiasm is a virtue.  In a holy cause it is termed madness.  Oh, thou divine Author of the human soul, evermore grant me the inspiration of this immortal spirit!”