"But one can hire a housekeeper," remonstrated Irene, with an indignant flush of the cheek. "So one can, Miss Stanley; and if one wants a doll with a pretty face to look at in hours of weariness, there are plenty of wax ones exhibited in show-cases and shop-windows, which may be purchased for a trifle. As for me, I would not select a wife for her ornamental or useful qualities, giving the latter a poetical meaning. I should seek for a companion and friend — one who would share in my higher, holier thoughts - ennoble my aspirations -call forth the better part of my nature-incite me to lofty, noble deeds— refine me by her gentleness soften down the rough edges of selfishness in my nature-soothe my hours of despondency-inspire me with new hope when I felt crushed to the earth, if I ever could feel so with the love of such a woman check me in sin encourage me in honorable ambition -- be, in short, my better self." It was interesting to watch the changes which passed over Irene's expressive countenance during this somewhat lengthy speech. At one moment her face kindled, at the next her eyes softened, and wore a subdued, tender expression. Finally she raised her downcast eyes, opened them full into Hampton's, met his earnest look, and, coloring slightly, said, with some agitation of tone: "But you have not fully answered my question." "The problem is hard to solve. Euclid never contained a more complicated one; yet it may be solved in several different ways. I have seen some men so self-worshipping that their contemptible pride made them fear rivalry. Some are so practical that they only desire housekeepers; some fear intellectual women because—although the ancient scandal has often been refuted they have adopted the mistaken notion that a woman who is brilliant in society, who has won prizes in the literary tournament, and is accustomed to the adulation of the public, must, of necessity, be a disagreeable home-companion-neglecting all the household duties, ignoring her responsibilities as wife and mother, for the sake of achieving fame, and growing despondent and irritated in the absence of that excitement and praise which is to some what his pill is to the opium-eater, an absolute necessity, without which the victim regards life as a burden too heavy to bear. Then there are sentimental youth who dream of 'An airy, fairy Lilian,' and think that the woman destined to be a wife was only created to look charmingly, dress becomingly, nestle closely to one's heart, put a pair of white arms about one's neck, and go through life billing and cooing, turtledove fashion. I, myself, used to fancy that I would be perfectly happy in a little love of a cottage, (like the one described in Moore's sarcastic poem, which Poverty entered one fine morning, putting the little god who had inhabited it before to inglorious flight,) with a little love of a wife who would wear white frocks and rose-buds in her hair, who would sing to me and kiss me, who would never puzzle her brains about abstruse questions, or, indeed, care for anything but to love me.” "What cured you?" "David Copperfield cured me, or, rather, that silly but loving little childwife of his. How wise of Dickens to remove her to a better world in her youth, and restore to the disappointed man the dream of happiness that haunted his boyhood, by giving him that love which alone could satisfy an exacting soul like his. Fancy such a woman growing to mature womanhood-to old age-bah!—and with such a husband! As it is, we can sympathize with, weep for, almost love the poor little butterfly, with its coaxing, winning little ways. Its very foolishness is attractive because of youth, beauty, and an affectionate, clinging heart. But imagine her an old woman!" MAR MARIA JOURDAN WESTMORELAND. ARIA ELIZABETH JOURDAN is of mingled French and English blood, her father being of French extraction, while her mother boasts a long line of English ancestry, whose generations extend far, far back to the "mother country." Col. Warren Jourdan, the father of our subject, was a Georgian; and never was man more devoted and jealous of the rights of his State than he. For twentyone years uninterruptedly he was in her councils and battled heroically in her cause. He was also the intimate friend and ready champion of George M. Troup. In 1835, he espoused the eldest daughter of Col. Reuben Thornton, also well and favorably known in Georgia, a Virginia gentleman of the old régime, who removed to this State when it was in a very unsettled condition, and purchased large landed estates on the Oconee River, in Greene County. Here Col. Thornton resided for many years, but the climate proving so miasmatic and baneful, and having time and again been bereaved by the loss of his children, he determined to seek a more healthful locality for his beloved ones. The beautiful petite village of Gainesville, Hall County, nestled away in the mountains of Northern Georgia, with its salubrious climate, its bracing atmosphere, and sparkling, delightful waters, all conspired to invite the stricken invalids to its enchanting region. Thitherward the family came, and there Col. Thornton purchased a summer-seat. Years after, at this very spot, while in quest of health, Col. Warren Jourdan met and wooed and won Mary Johnson, the eldest daughter of Reuben Thornton and Maria Winston. This union was auspicious in the extreme. Col. Jourdan possessed wealth; he was cultured and refined; a courtier in manners, an Adonis in appearance, chivalric, generous, and hospitable, he certainly was richly entitled to the enviable reputation which he enjoyed of being one of the most irresistible men of his day. His wife also was quite cultivated and attractive, a fine musician, and an excellent artist. Added to these lighter accomplishments, Mrs. Jourdan possessed remarkable courage and an indomitable will, which, in after-years of vicissitude and change, caused her to successfully surmount grievous obstacles, and to heroically com bat the hard and bitter strokes of fortune with which she was so often lashed. Just here it may be proper to state that Mrs. Warren Jourdan, at the ripe age of fifty-four years, has in course of preparation a practical "Cookery Book," which will be peculiarly adapted to the wants of the young and inexperienced housekeepers in our distressed and impoverished Southland. Reared, as the women of the South were, in luxury and ease, and being deprived of their inheritance, trained servants, etc., they are left without guide or director in the culinary department. This book, then, is a sine qua non with the wives of our soldier-boys. It will soon be ready for their use. All who have ever eaten at the hospitable board of Col. Jourdan can testify to the excellency and deliciousness of Mrs. Jourdan's cuisine. Begging pardon for our digression, we return to that which interests us more particularly the birth, education, talents, and literary career of our authoress. The felicitous union of which we have spoken was fruitful of four as handsome and intelligent children as ever blessed the home and hearts of fond parents. The third child and second daughter was Maria Elizabeth Jourdan. Loveliness of person and precocity of mind were her gifts from nature. It was a rare thing for one to pass the thoughtful little beauty without prophesying a brilliant future for her. Even in tender childhood she gave unmistakable evidences of that genius which has given to the literati those essays which have appeared from time to time in the columns of "Scott's Monthly," and the "Ladies' Home Gazette," both periodicals published in the city of Atlanta, the home of Mrs. Westmoreland. With Maria Jourdan, music was a passion. Having been so fortunate as to have always enjoyed the tuition of skilful masters, she early became a proficient in the art, and, unlike most married ladies, she has never thrown aside her favorite amusement, but devotes much time to familiarizing herself with the various operas, etc., her rendition of some of which is worthy a Strakosch or a Verdi. Her touch is exquisite and thrilling, her manipulation wonderful. Nor should we fail to speak of her beautiful improvisations, which so often charm and delight the home circle. Hour after hour have we seen her under the inspiration, as it were, of Orpheus, while strain after strain of the most witching music would be borne upon the air, ravishing the ear, melting the heart, and causing the eye to grow liquid, and the lip to quiver with emotion. On such occasions Mrs. Westmoreland is tran scendently charming. The rapt look she wears; the deeply sad expression of her large, dark, and lustrous eyes; the heightening color, the classic brow, where "thought sits enthroned "-all, all combine to form a picture over which artists would delight to linger. Her manners are fascinating-not indeed free from that hauteur peculiar to high-bred Southern women; but she commands without repulsing. She is a brilliant colloquist, her conversations abounding in wit, repartee, and pleasantry. Mrs. Westmoreland is endowed with a high order of intellect, excelling, when at college, in mathematics and the languages. She also early evinced a preference for the study of the classics, and her mind is richly stored with stories and legends — of those real and mythical personages whose marvellous deeds and glorious achievements have been sung from time immemorial. The Baptist College, located in the beautiful and refined city of La Grange, is the alma mater of Mrs. Westmoreland, as it is also of her not less gifted but less ambitious sister, Mrs. Madeline V. Bryan, who writes charmingly both in prose and poetry. A few weeks after the completion of her seventeenth birthday, Maria Jourdan became the wife of Dr. W. F. Westmoreland, of Atlanta. They went to Atlanta to reside. Mrs. Westmoreland's musicals and conversazioni were always brilliant and recherché. She was also the founder of a literary club," whose members convened once a week at her residence on Marietta Street. On these occasions, private theatricals were performed, and poems read or delivered, each member being compelled to contribute something for the amusement and edification of the "club." These weekly reunions were replete with interest and information, and happy they, indeed, who formed one of this charmed circle. Mrs. Westmoreland's home has been brightened by two lovely and intelligent children; the elder, a daughter of eight summers, resembles her mother both in mind and person. The advent of this little one occurred on the day South Carolina seceded; her father, a staunch and uncompromising secessionist, immediately gave his daughter the name of that gallant and chivalric State. The younger child is a lovely, golden-haired boy of scarce four years. He came to his mother, not when the cause of the South was hopeful, but at the fatal hour when Sherman captured and desolated Atlanta! They are both children of the revolution, and we can but breathe a prayer that before they arrive at their respective estates of woman |