Thus was this mere child, day after day, and hour after hour, confined to the piano, to her drawing and painting lessons, and her worsted work.  She became a proficient in these external accomplishments, and was by some considered quite a prodigy—­possessing a rare genius, which often means nothing more nor less than a distorted character.

Her health for a time was sadly undermined, and her nervous system was shattered by too close attention to pursuits which imposed too great a tax upon the visual organs, and too much abstraction from common objects.

Who would not rather see a young daughter—­the merry, laughing companion of a group of girls—­out after wild flowers, weaving them into garlands to crown the head of some favorite of the party, making up bouquets as a gift for mamma, or some favorite aunt—­cutting paper into fantastic figures, and placing them upon the wall to please children, or dressing a doll for little sister?  Who would not rather see their young daughter a jumping delicate little romp, chasing a bird in mirthful glee, as if she verily thought she could catch it?

How could this young wife and mother, so differently trained, be expected all at once to judge and act wisely and impartially about the grave matter of infant training—­a subject she absolutely knew nothing about, having never contemplated it?  What do parents think, or expect when their young daughters marry and become parents?  Do they suppose that some magic spell will come over a girl of eighteen in going through the matrimonial ceremony, which shall induct her into all the mysteries of housewifery, and initiate her into the more intricate and important duty of training the infant, so as to give it a sound mind in a sound body, so that it shall possess a symmetrical character?

The father of Louise saw too late his mistake in allowing this daughter the great privilege, as he thought at the time, of having her own way in every thing.

If this were a proper place to give advice to young men on the grave subject of selecting a wife, we should say, “Never marry a young lady merely for her showy, outward accomplishments, which, ten chances to one, have been attained at the expense of more valuable and useful acquirements—­perhaps at the sacrifice of the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.  Never select for a wife a young lady who dishonors her name and sex by the avowal that she dislikes children; that she even hates the care of them, and that she never could find pleasure in household duties.  She could never love flowers, or find satisfaction in cultivating them.”

A lovely infant is the most beautiful object of all God’s handy works.  “Flowers are more than beautiful;” they give us lessons of practical wisdom.  So the Savior teaches us.  If I did not love little children—­if I did not love flowers—­I would studiously hide the fact, even from myself, for then I could not respect myself.