9ga Bb UCSB LIBRARY . LILAC AND ROSE. THE AFRICAN BEEFEATER THE FLORAL OFFERING, AND i tjjlir (EmWIisjub. NEW YORK: B U B D I C K , HEED & ROBERTS No. 8 SPRUCE STREET. INDEX. Affecting Tale, ....... -21 Annie Wilbur. By Miss L. Douglas, . . . 102 Autumn. Editorial, ...... 1GB Advice to Young Men, 204 A Flower's Life and Lessons. By J. H. Bixby, . . . 206 Azure Tinted Dome. By M. L., . 384 Beware, ........ 30 Beauty, ....... 33 Bunyan's Christiana. By Mrs. M. E. Doubleday, . ,65 Beautiful Epitaph, . . . . . 200 Battle Monument. Editorial, ..... 285 Bold Strokes of Truth, ..... 242 Brother in Need, A. By Rev. S. I. Prime, . . ., 379 Christianity, ....... 52 Canary Birds, ...... 136, 163 Christian's Pilgrimage, The. By M. S. Bullions, . . 211 Constantinople. By the Editor, . ... . . 247 Child and Hermit, ...... 279 Consistency, . . ..._-. 303 Character, A Good, . . . . . , 818 Christian Race, The. By A. V. C. Schenck, . . --, 28t Dream, A. By E. B., . . . . , 15 Doom of the Soul. By Rev. A. A. Lipscomb, . . . 217 Dig, DigDeep. Editorial, ..... 251 Dance, The. By the Editor, ..... 297 Did Jesus thus Suffer. Rev. S. I. Prime, . . , 322 Death-Bed, A, . . . . . . 364 Death, . . . . . . . . 364 Dedication of Youth to God. By Mrs. Ellis, . . . 888 Epitaphs, . . . . . .... 71 Evil Hollow, The, ...... 5 Envy and Candor, . . . . . . 100 Eulogium, . . . . . . .108 Extraordinary Scene, ...... 275 Evening Walk, ....... 314 Earth's Visions. By Mrs. L. G. Abell, ... 363 Filial Affection. Editorial, ..... 9 Fuschia, ....... 16 Farmer's Work for September, . . . . .39 Fatal Secret, The, . . . . . . 147 Fashionable Amusements. By Mrs. S. C. M'Cabe, . 123, 159 First Impressions of England. By the Editor, . . 153 Firm Trust in God, ...... 171 IV INDEX. Flower Garden in Paris, . . . . . 173 Family Distinctions. By S. B. Roberts, . . .318 Female Beauty, ...... 336 Flight into Egypt, The, ..... 349 FaQ of Absalom, ....... 403 Family Love, ....... 411 Granite State. By Dr. C. B. Webster, . . . 131 Graves of those we Love. By W. Irving, . .142 Grapes, to Preserve, . . . . . . 146 Gems of Sentiment, . . . . . .180 Grand Duke and the Jew, . . . . . 181 Gems of History, ...... 205 German Boy, The. By Mrs. E. A. Comstock, Good Daughter, A, ...... 378 Home of the Soul. By F. S. Key, . . . . 18 Hints, ........ 39 Hints to All. By Mrs. L. G. Abell, .... 75 Heart, The, ....... 94 Hints to Young Men, ...... 342 Hints, ........ 426 Industry Rewarded, ...... 58 Instructive Dreamer, The, ..... 69 Influence of Teachers. By Rev. A. Walker, . . 197 Infidel taken at his Word, . . . . . 214 I am Dying, ....... 302 Indecision. By Mrs. E. Ricord, .... 372 Lost Son, The. Editorial, ..... 45 Look Aloft, ....... 52 Lilac, ........ 64 Last Supper, The, . . . . . . 81, 145 Lady Jane Grey. Editorial, . . . . .165 London. By the Editor, ..... 225 Life of Trees. By Miss B. Chickering, . . . .287 Letters from a Hollow Tree, .... 307, 391, 412 Mother's Treasure, The. Editorial, . . . .117 Mother's Love, A, . . . . . . 132 Man of Sorrows, The: By Miss Aird, . . . .157 Mammoth Wealth, .{.... 209 Mary Nelson, ....... 237 Mental Training of Children, ..... 252 Moral Courage in Everyday Life, .... 263 Mother's Choice, A. By Mrs. M. J, George, . . 273 Mutability, ....... 274 Modesty in Young Men, . . . . . 332 Magnolia Grandiflora, ...... 360 Moral Hints, ....... 326 Mourning Apparel. By the Editor, .... 369 INDEX. V Music at Night, ...... 390 Music Protection. C. Dingley, . . . .40 Bristol. T.Hastings, . . . . 112 Sabbath Morn. T. Hastings, . . . .184 How Charming is the Place. T. Hastings, . . 256 li Selucia. T. Hastings, ..... 328 There is a Calm. T. Hastings, . . . 400 Natural Bridge, The. By E. Burritt, . .53 New Year's Address. By the Editor, . . . 174 Nature. By Rev. M. Montague, .... 351 No License. By Miss Mary Coe, .... 320 Only Daughter, The. By Mrs. S. C. M'Cabe, . . .189 Old Church, The, ...... 232 On Recreation, ....... 235 Our Bodies, ....... 194 Passing Moments. By Rev. S. W. Whelpley, . . .19 Poem. By Mrs. St. Leon Loud, . . . . 83 Practical Hints, . . . . . . .129 Pagan Morality, . . . . . . 216 Piony, . ' . . . . . . . 360 Premiums, ....... 428 Rose, The, ....... 63 Roman Virtue, . . * . . . .133 Ruth Gleaning, . . . . . . 196 Religion or Ruin, ..... . 267 is for Family Worship. By Rev. C. A. Smith, . 354 Refreshing Gales, ...... 383 Spirit River, The. By A. W. Holden, . . . .29 Stanzas, . . . . . . . 30 Shadows of the Past. By Mrs. E. A. Comstock, . . 59 Sentiments and Similies, ..... 72 Sin and Folly of Fretting, ..... 73 Syrian Ox, . . . . . . . Ill Salmasius. ....... 121 Sacred Song. By Mary J. B. Dana, .... 122 Scrap, ........ 132 Scrap. ........ 138 Summer's Gone. By H. A. B, . . IRli ' . 144 Sentiments, ....... 180 183 Sinner's Call. The. By Rev. S. D. Burchard, . . 236 ii Kvcning. By Oscar L. Beach, .... 264 ."!;.! Sun- NYay to Heaven. By the Editor, . . 261 .':> proof, ....... 246 :lu- British Ministry, .... 306 Laid in the Earth. ...... 325 Saturday Xi-rtit. By Miss J. Skerritt, ... 361 Summer Midnight. By J. E. D. Comstock, . . . 410 VI INDEX. Touching Anecdote, ...... 36 Three Scenes, . . . . . . .139 To the Evening Star. By E. C. Hine. . 172 The Flowers amid the Corn, . . . . .195 Terrible Enemy of Home, The, .... 244 Trees and Flowers. By Rev. S. D. Burchard, . . . 253 Two Pictures, The. By Mrs. Anna L. Snelling, . . 343 The Hour Glass, 371 To a Mother on the Death of a Child. By Rev. S. D. Burchard, 385 The Death of Christ, ...... 386 To our Patrons and Friends, . . . . .401 Voice O'er the Waters. By Mrs. F. H. W. Green, . 304 Wages of Sin, ...... 71 We are Growing Old. By B. F. Romaine, . . .84 What do we Admire in Woman. . . . . 90 Will of GoJ, . . . . . . .141 Widow and her Son, ...... 201 Woman. By T. E. Sc-hoolar, . . . . .324 Women of America. By L. G. Abell, . . . 421 Young Lady and the Wife, . . . . .31 Youth of Nations, The, .... 208 EMBELLISHMENTS. Passing Moments. . . Steel Engraving. . 5 Miss Tyndal. . . . . . " . . 42 The Last Supper. ... 78 Mrs. Coster and Child. . . . " . . 114 Lady Jane Gray. . . . " . 150 The Only Daughter. . . . " . . 186 Constantinople. .... " 222 Battle Monument, Baltimore. . . " . . 258 Evening Walk, .... " . . 294 The Pilgrims. . . . . .*..., . 330 Wash ; ngton's House, ...".. 366 St. John and the Lamb, ... " . . 400 The Fuschia. . . . Colored Engraving. . 6 Lilac and Rose. . . . " . 43 The African Bee-Eater. ... " . . 79 Camelia Anemonefolia. . . " . . 115 Cornus Canadensis. . . . " . .151 Piony. . . . . " . . 187 Magnolia and Ixia Flexuosa. . " 223 Strawberries and Currants. . . " . 259 Geranium and Sysimachia Bulbifera. . " 295 Bell Flower and" Pink. . . " . . 331 Canterbury Bell, ... " . . 367 Aquilegia Canadensis, . . . " . . 401 The Natural Bridge. . . Wood Engraving. . 57 Syrian Ox. . . . . " . . Ill The Child and Hermit. " 279 FILIAL AFFECTION. THE relations of life lay the foundation of correspondent obligations and duties. Those of our own kindred and blood are allowed to be the most sacred and tender. Among these, the Filial Relation holds an important rank. If existence be a priceless gift, our obligations to those who have been the instrumental cause of it, are surpassed by none, but such as result from creative power and goodness. The child is, as it were a part of the parent ; the same blood flows in his veins, and for a long time his condition is one of absolute weakness and dependence. The microscopic insect is not so helpless and dependent in the first stages of his being. In those creatures, who, from the moment of their birth are blessed with the power of self-preservation, the principle of affection is seen to be wholly wanting. In other cases nature compensates for the want of abiMty by implanting this principle in the bosom of the parent and its offspring. Filial Affection is a dictate of nature. It is natural for the child to love his early and constant benefac- tors, those whose hearts have ever been full of kindness and solicitude, and whose hands have ever been stretched out for his protection and support. 10 FILIAL AFFECTION. The fifth commandment is in unison with nature ; it is but the embodiment of its dictates. It is remarkable that this is the only commandment coupled with a promise, doubtless to intimate that the faithful discharge of filial obli- ligations is the most effectual means of securing the smiles of a benignant Providence. It has been observed that dis- obedient children generally come to an untimely end, or meet with such heavy disappointments and misfortunes, as to make life itself a burden. How short was the guilty career of Absolem ! how fearful and melancholy its termina- tion. The conduct of those who break such cords of love is so unnatural and so base, that they have little else to expect than the frowns of Heaven and the detestation of man- kind. They have no reason to expect that they will receive the common marks of civility from others, who have been thus ungrateful to the authors of their being and their great- est benefactors. None have received benefits so great and numerous, as children have from their parents, many of which were be- stowed without their knowledge, and many even contrary to their wishes. Day and night, and amidst the numerous and formidable dangers that beset the pathway of life, they have been blessed with their watchful superintendence and powerful protection. In the most defenceless and most exposed period of life, when they had no knowledge or experience to guide their steps, their eyes have never slum- bered, their feet have never tired, their love has never grown cold, and they never once stopped to enc[iiire Avhether we should ever have it in our power, or be disposed to repay them for all their toil and care. Though it were more than probable we might not live to return their kindness, they have been as careful of our health and happiness as of their own ; nay, more so. Late and early, in summers heat and winters cold, in weariness and in watching, they have toiled for us, sparing no pains and shunning no sacrifices, to pro- mote our happiness, and render our future condition in the world as respectable and comfortable as possible. FILIAL AFFECTION. 11 Who then can fully estimate the debt of gratitude children owe to parents, for such unnumbered and unmerited favors, such unfailing, disinterested kindness? Low indeed must those be sunk in the scale of humanity, and destitute of every virtuous sentiment and feeling, who can repay such kindness with ingratitude ! Who could respect or repose confidence in such ingrates? He who recklessly and habit- tually violates the duty he owes to parents, will not hesitate to break through all other obligations. He certainly will not be held by bonds less sacred and strong. He who can break fetters of brass, will not be held by fetters of straw. The bosom in which Filial Affection is extinct will never glow with true love or pure friendship. Filial Affection is the stock upon which love and friendship is engrafted ; or, rather it is the soil in which they spring and flourish. It is this which first softens and educates the heart and renders it susceptible to love and friendship. It is this which prepares the heart for the implantation of every tender sentiment ; the heart which is steeled against it is hardened to rock. The disobedient son will never make a generous friend or a good husband. He may offer his hand, but he will not give his heart. He who would abuse a devoted father, will betray a friend. He who could slight and outrage a mother's love, may look coldly on a wife and see her die of grief, without a pang of remorse. To such an one, neither the vow of friendship or marriage has any sacredness, and woe be unto those who trust in him! Blighted hopes and broken hearts will be their miserable lot. Before then a person is received to the fullest confidence and admited to all the unreserved intimacies and endear- ments of the most devoted friendship, it would be wise to ask how he has sustained the Filial Relation. And, when proposals are made for marriage, a female should satisfy herself first on this point. Be it that his character in other respects, is good; The want of Filial Affection nullifies all his pr< 'tensions and vitiates all his boasted virtues. He may not be safely trusted in a matter whirl) pertains to the affec- tions, and which involves the happiness of which true love is 12 FILIAL AFFECTION. the main ingredient. He is not a safe depository of that priceless gem, a females heart. These remarks are also applicable to daughters, but we are happy to say, there is not in their case so much occasion for them. Instances of Filial recreancy are less frequent among daughters than sons. Indeed they are very rare. Whether this is owing to constitutional differences, or to the greater tenderness felt for them, and the more gentle treat- ment they receive, or, to the fact, that they are more domes- ticated and shielded from evil influences, we cannot exactly determine. In the plan of God's moral and providential government there is a peculiar fitness and adaptation in every arrangement. As females are designed for a peculiar sphere of action and enjoyment, they are fitted, both by nature and the circumstances in which they are placed for this sphere. They seem formed for DOMESTIC, rather than for public life, to live retired from the haunts of business and scenes of turmoil and conflict, and make home a little paradise for man, by making it the centre of attraction and the seat of love. Woman was designed to be the beautiful counterpart of man, to supply what was defective in him of gentleness and grace, and to heighten the enjoyments of life by the irre- sistable charms of her society and conversation. One cannot fail to have observed the native gentleness and sensibility of females, which is more and more developed under kind treatment, and which, when matured by proper cultivation, renders them so lovely and attractive, and gives them such all conquering power over our sex. The female heart, like a delicate instrument, is strung with cords which vibrates the softest, sweetest melody ; it is a sacred depository where treasures of love are garnered up to be lavished with a free and liberal hand. Nature and education may account for the superior strength of affections in females. Hence Filial Love takes deeper root in the hearts of daughters ; and, in the progress of its development it acquires all the force and potency of a fixed law and principle of action. Hence the constancy and ardor of daughterly affection. FILIAL AFFECTION. 13 When sickness blanches the cheek and dims the eye of a beloved parent, the daughter watches by the bedside, and never leaves it until the bloom of health returns, or the fea- tures are rigid in death. We are happy to record the fact that instances of recre- ancy in duty among daughters are exceedingly rare. But still, there have not been wanting melancholy cases of it, which may well excite our wonder and lead the susceptible mind of females to shrink with horror at the thought of so unnatural a crime. The want of Filial Affection in daugh- ters, is less excusable and more unnatural, if possible, than in sons. Parents feel that they cannot always rely with un- doubting confidence upon the stability and purity of a son r s affection. Not so with their daughters ; on their constancy they place the most perfect reliance. Recreancy therefore in them, causes a tremendous shock, and spreads desolation in all their paths. The afflicted parent exclaims in the bitterness of his soul, had it been my son who has thus wounded me, my grief had not been so poignant ; but it is my DAUGHTER, on whose fidelity and affection I have securely relied. The ill-treatment of a son is heart-breaking, that of a daughter, fills the soul with the bitterness of death. If these remarks should meet the eye of some daughter, who, under the influence of an unsubdued temper, is daily embittering the happiness of her parents, we trust she may be led to reflect upon the sinfulness of her unfeminine con- duct. Or, if they should be perused by some rash and thoughtless young lady, who is declining in respect for her parents, and pursuing a course calculated to destroy their peace, we hope they may happily be the means of awaken- ing in them a sense of obligation, and rekindling the dying flame of Filial Affection. Illustrious examples of Filial Affection are not wanting to inspire the young with a laudable desire to excel in this noble virtue. TITUS MANLIUS, who had been treated with great cruelty by his father, the Dictator, simply because he had an impediment in his speech, when his father was im- 14 FILIAL AFFECTION. peached before the Roman people, armed himself with a dagger, and having obtained admittance to the bedchamber of Pomponius the Tribune, threatened him with instant death, if he would not bind himself by. an oath which he administered on the spot, that he would desist from the pro- secution. The Tribune, seeing the dagger glittering aloft, took the oath, and the Roman people, struck with the noble conduct of the youth, made him second Military Tribune. The SON OF CKCESUS, King of Lydia, who was born dumb, which defect his father spared no expense to cure, to no effect, at the time Sardis was taken by the Persians, seeing his father like to be slain by a soldier, unacquainted with the King's person, made such an effort to speak, that he burst the string of his tongue and cried out, " SOLDIER ! SPARE THE LIFE OF CROESUS ! " Philip of Macedon, being dan- gerously wounded in an attempt to quell a disturbance, his son Alexander, then only a youth of seventeen, rushed to his assistance, covered him with his shield, and after killing several of the mutineers, carried him off in safety. The love Alexander evinced for his mother Olympias, a woman of a turbulent spirit, was most remarkable. Receiving a letter from Antipator, bitterly inveighing against her, he said, POOR MAN, he is not aware that one single tear of my mother, will obliterate a thousand such letters. The illus- trious SCIPIO AFRICANUS, \vho had scarcely passed his childhood, seeing his father wounded, and liable to be cut to pieces in an engagement with Hannibal, regardless of his safety, rushed into the hottest of the battle, and carried him off in triumph. In the midst of the applause \vhich Epa- minondas received on account of an illustrious victory he gained over the Spartans, at the battle of Leuctra, exclaimed, " My greatest pleasure arises from the affectionate joy with which the news of my victory will inspire my dear father and mother." A no less striking instance of Filial Affection is presented in the last dying request of Nelson, the Hero of Traffalgar. While yet the thunder of his cannon was deal- FILIAL AFFECTION. 15 ing destruction to his foes, and as the notes of victory fell on his ear, he said, " Bury me by my parents." Our own WASHINGTON, has furnished us with a noble example of Filial Affection, worthy of all praise and imita- tion. After his election to the Presidency, and previous to entering on the duties of his office, he repaired to Fred- ricksburgh, to take his leave of his mother. It was an affect- ing scene. Washington observed the ravages of disease, and tenderly addressed her, telling her he came to bid her an affectionate farewell, ere he assumed the functions of his office, and promising that as soon as his public duties would permit, to hasten back to Virginia. His mother wept as she said in tremulous tones, " My Son, you will see me no more. But go, my Son, and fulfil your high destinies, and may Heaven's and a mother's blessing be upon you." Locked in her arms, he leaned his head on her shoulder and wept. Peerless Mother ! Noble Son ! Where on earth was there ever seen such a Son, and such a Mother ? A DREAM. I dreamt of lands where summer's happy reign Was never known to fade ; of rippling lakes, Made musical by Zephyrs on whose wings Were borne the scent of flowers, newly blown. The bird's sweet song rang ceaselessly through groves, Whose branches, meeting, formed a perfect arch Above its paths, quite shutting out the sun ; Save, where, at intervals, the parted leaves Gave one bright ray of sunlight to the view One patch of heaven's fair canopy. The breeze, Playing 'mid waving leaves and odorous flowers, Came on my ear like spirit-whisperings, Soothing and comforting. Oh ! that this life, So full of harrowing cares and sad reverses, Shrin'd but one image of that vanished dream ! THE FUSCHIA. THE FUSCHIA. Thou graceful flower on graceful stem. Of Flora's gifts a fav'rite gem ! From trophic fields thou cam'st to cheer The natives of a climate drear; And, grateful for our fostering care, Hast learnt the wintry blast to bear. This beautiful plant has not been known in this country many years. All the species cultivated in this country are natives of South America. It is placed by botanists in the Natural Order Onagraceae, and in the eighth class Octandria, and first order Monogynia, of the Linnaean System. The light and graceful appearance of the Fuschia renders it desirable in the flower garden as a mere shrub ; but when ornamented with its pendant flowers of richest crimson dye, tinged with purple or pale green, and sometimes shading into a delicate cream color, with its cluster of golden stamens and pistil it. seems to us one of the most elegant and tasteful of all the wonted inhabitants of the parterre. To the lover of flowers who delights to cultivate that which he admires when in its prime beauty, the Fuschia possesses other qualities which en- hance its value its free growth, the ease with which it is propagated, and its general hardiness. ANECDOTE OF THE FUSCHIA. At the Boston Horticultural Exhibition the following anec- dote was related by the Rev. W. Choules, on the authority of Mr. Shepherd, the accomplished conservator of the Botanical Gardens at Liverpool, respecting the introduction of that flowery shrub, the Fuschia, into the green-houses of Europe. Old Mr. Lee, a well known nurseryman and florist at Greenwich, near London, about fifty years ago, was one day showing his variegated treasures to a person, who suddenly turned and said, " Well, you have not in your whole collec- tion so pretty a flower as one I saw to-day in a window at Wapping " THE FUSCHIA. 17 "Indeed, and what was this phoenix like?" " Why the plant was beautiful, and the flowers hung down like tassels from the drooping branches ; their color was the deepest crimson, and in the centre a fold of rich purple." Particular inquiries were made as to the exact whereabouts, and Mr. Lee posted off to the place, where he discovered the object of his pursuit, and immediately pronounced it a NEW PLANT. He saw and admired it. Entering the humble dwelling, he said, " My good woman, this is a nice plant of yours I should like to buy it." "Ah, sir, I couldn't sell it for no money ; it was brought to me from foreign parts by my husband, who has gone away again and I must keep it for his sake." "But 1 must have it." " No, sir ; I can't spare it." " Here," emptying his pockets ; " here is gold, silver, and copper," his stock amounting to more than eight guineas. " Well-a-day, this is a power of money." " 'Tis yours, and the plant is mine, my good woman. I'll give you one of the first young ones I rear, to keep for your husband's sake ; I will indeed." The bargain was struck, a coach called, in which old Mr. Lee and his apparently dearly purchased flower was deposi- ted. On returning home, his first work was to strip off and destroy every blossom and bud ; the plant was divided into small cuttings, which were forced into bark-beds and hot- beds, and again sub-divided. Every effort was employed to multiply the plant. Mr. Lee became the delighted possessor of three hundred Fuschias, all giving promise of fine blossoms. The two which first expanded were placed in his window. A lady came in. " Why Mr. Lee, my dear Mr. Lee. where did you get this charming flower ?" "'Tis a new thing, my lady pretty, is it not?" "Pretty! 'tis lovely; it's price?" "A guinea, your ladyship;" and one of the two plants that evening stood in beauty on her ladyship's table in her bou- doir. THE HOME OF THE SOUL. "My dear Charlotte, where did you get that elegant flower ? " " Oh, 'tis a new thing ; I saw it at old Mr. Lee's pretty, is it not?" " Pretty ! 'tis beautiful ; what did it cost ? " " Only a guinea, and there was another left." The visitor's horses trotted off to the suburb, and a third beauteous plant, graced the spot from whence the first had been taken. The second guinea was paid, and the Fuschia adorned another drawing room of fashion. This scene was repeated as new calls were made, by persons attracted by the beauty of the plant. Two plants, graceful and bursting into flower, were constantly seen on the same spot. He glad- dened the faithful sailor's wife with the promised flower, and before the season closed, nearly three hundred guineas jingled in his purse, the produce of the single shrub from the win- dow of Wapping, as reward of old Mr. Lee's taste, skill and decision." THE HOME OF THE SOUL. BY F. S. KEY. OH ! where shall the soul find relief from its woes, A shelter of safety, a home of repose ? Can earth's highest summit or deepest hid vale Give a refuge no sorrow or sin can assail ? No, no ! there's no home ' There's no home on earth, the soul has no home ! Shall it leave the low earth, and soar to the sky, And seek for a rest in the mansions on high ? In the bright realms of bliss shall a dwelling be giv'n, And the soul find a home in the glory of Heaven ? Yes, yes ! there's a home ! There's a home in high Heaven, the soul has a home Oh ! holy and sweet its rest shall be there ; Free for ever from sin, and sorrow, and care ; And the loud hallelujahs of angels shall rise To welcome the soul to its home in the skies ; Home, home ! home of the soul ! The bosom of God is the home of the soul ! Original "PASSING MOMENTS." BY REV. S. W. WHELPLEY With a steel Engraving. Moments ! what fleeting things ye are ! Like the swift arrow or the shooting star ; Like the light vapour melting into air; Like sparks ascending from a cheerful fire, No sooner are they born than they expire ; Like sparks which shine upon the face of night, The darkness only makes them shine more bright The " passing moments" quickly fly, Soon as they are born they die. Tireless they run and make no stay, They stop not in their course, by night or day. The tired Eagle seeks a place of rest, Lowers his broad pinions on the mountains crest, But moments, like rivers, have a ceasless flow Nought can arrest them on they go. In life's young morn the moments move too slow, Whether to happiness they run or wo ; In later years the loiterers fly too fast ; Thousands in anguish would recall the past. Behold LAVINIA, beautiful and young, The light of every eye, the praise of every tongue All the sweet influence of maternal power, Had moulded her in childhoods happy hour. On her young mind the dews of grace descended, Beauty, in her, with virtue sweetly blended. The paths of knowledge Lavinia early trod, Those which lead on to holiness and God. Till now, the passing moments had gaily flown, On her the light of peace had ever shone. 20 PASSING MOMENTS. But now alas, a sudden change has come ; A cloud is gathering o'er her peaceful home. Why at that open window lingers she so long ? Prefering solitude to the joyful throng. Though clad in rich attire, Lavinia is not gay ; Beneath a snowy veil her glossy ringlets play : Before her the emblematic hour-glass stands Why watches she the silent falling sands ? Sadness sits pensive on her thoughtful brow, As apprehensive of some fatal blow. Oh, could she pierce the intervening veil How would she her blighted hopes bewail ! ! He comes not nor will he ever come ; Gone is her Marion to his heavenly home. The summons came his spirit passed away ; Darkness and gloom closed o'er her bridal day. The night before, he dreamed he saw her stand, At the same window, the hour-glass in her hand ; He thought that she, his last moments, was numbering, , While, he, on his lone couch, was slumbering. He woke not in vain was the warning given ; The Sun went down he awoke in heaven. Like the sharp winds that nip the tender flower Lavinia is doomed to feel afflictions power. What have those passing, transient moments wrought ? What bitter, trying lessons have they taught. Her pillow oft with bitter tears are wet ; Those " passing moments" she can ne'er forget. Oft at the same window is she seen to stand, With the same hour-glass in her hand ; Numbering the moments as they swiftly fly, And teach her how to live, and how to die. Passing moments ! fools only will despise ; From things so transient, how much good or evil rise. Joy comes upon their viewless wings, And sorrow, as from hidden fountains, springs. The moments that we pass in deepest gloom, May, for the purest joys, be making room ; The joys, which, from earthly hopes arise, Are like flowers exposed to wintry skies. The HAPPIEST moments what are they? PASSING MOMENTS. 21 What but short gleamings in a cloudy day ; The smile of pleasure on the brow of pain ; Quickly we lose whate'er we think we gain. Many and sad are the disappointments given, To teach us there are better things in heaven. Passing moments are the busy pioneers, Opening to other scenes in future years ; Foreshadowing evil or foretelling joy, Teaching how our time we should employ. Passing moments, transient though they be, Stand all related to Eternity. Each one will make its ages roll more bright, Or lose itself in the abyss of night. These little monitors forever by our side, Rebuke alike our indolence and pride ; Expressive in their SILENCE, as in their FLIGHT, As the revolving Planets in a stilly night. Moments are the pinions with which we fly, To worlds beneath or worlds above the sky. With these our pulses, like instruments keep time, Or, like the evening bells, together chime. The beating pulses, the passing moments number, Whether we are but half awake or deeply slumber. On these viewless pinions we make our way, To realms of darkness or of day ; Just as the frail bark in the wide open sea, From hidden rocks and dangerous quicksands free, Feels the quick stroke of the well plied oar, Which drives it forward to the shore, So, by the passing moments we are driven, Nearer and more near to hell or heaven. Storms may beat frail vessels back, But nought can drive us from the destined track ; Billows may roll and tempests beat, But, FROM L/TERNITY, there's no retreat. Whate'er our purposes or thoughts may be, We're on the wide, the open Sea ; The Land of Life or Death lies straight before; The deaf'ning whirlwinds may around us ryar But soon we must make the predestined coast, Be numbered with the saved or lost. 22 AN AFFECTING TALE. AN AFFECTING AND INSTRUCTIVE TALE. RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE. FROM THE GERMAN. IN a little village far removed from cities and high roads, there dwelt a young Weaver, a devout and honest man, but poor. His wife as good and kind hearted as himself, assisted him faithfully at his trade, from early morn till late in the evening by spooling yarn, and still these good people had oftentimes nothing to eat for weeks, except potatoes boiled or roasted, with a little salt, but they were happy, for they were warmly attached to one another, and enjoyed peace of mind. Heaven had bestowed upon them three promising children, whom they brought up with care, and instructed in every thing good. All who visited these excellent people were charmed with their cheerfulness and cordiality, and many a one was satisfied to partake with them of their sim- ple dish of potatoes in order to enjoy the edifying discourse of the devout pair. One pleasant summer evening, a well dressed man came to the Weaver's cottage ; he saluted the man and his wife very pleasantly, and begged them not to take it ill that he had disturbed them at so late an hour. "I am journeying on foot to Weinsburg," he said, " I am unacquainted with the road. Will you not be so kind as to accompany me for a short distance? I can then find the way alone perhaps, and I will reward you well for your trouble." The Weaver straightway sprang up from his stool, drew on his well worn but neatly patched coat, and walked briskly onward before the stranger to show him the way. On the road they spoke of various matters, and the stranger was very affable and pleasant. But at last when it had grown perfectly dark, the unknown stopped on a sudden, drew AN AFFECTING TALE. 23 a whistle from his pocket, and blew upon it so shrilly that the poor Weaver trembled and shuddered in every limb ; at the same moment eight or ten frightful looking fellows came from the adjacent thicket, approaeiied the stranger, who ap- peared to be their Captain, and consulted with him about the robbery of a certain mill, which they purposed to break into during the night. The Captain hereupon presented the poor Weaver to them as a comrade who had newly joined the band. "He was somewhat timorous indeed," he said, " but he would soon get over that." The unhappy man fell upon his knees, and begged for mercy, but the Robber placing a pistol to his breast, cried, "EITHER GO WITH us OR DIE!" Two of the men now took him between them, and dragged him on- ward. About midnight they reached the mill, succeeded in breaking into it, having left the poor Weaver and another one of the band to keep watch without. But the police had got upon the track of the rogues ; the measure of their iniqui- ties was now full ; the Captain, the Weaver and some others were taken prisoners ; the rest escaped. In the mean while the poor woman, the Weaver's wife, began to feel anxious and alarmed ; her husband did not make his appearance during the night, and when morning came and still he did not return, her anxiety became excess- ive; the neighbors went out to seek after him, but they sould neither see nor hear any thing of the unhappy man. The poor woman was inconsolable, although she was yet anacquainted with the dreadful tidings which were soon to reach her ears. It was not until evening that she heard of the robbery, and that the Weaver had been present when the deed was perpetrated, that he with the Captain of the Robbers and others of the band had been arrested, and were now in pri- son, to await their trial for life or death. The poor woman could now no longer control herself. She placed her chil- dren in the charge of a neighbor, and ran with all the speed she could to the town where her husband was confined in 24 AN AFFECTING TALE. prison. She went first to the judge to whom she related what she knew of the business, and then fell at his feet, and implored him to liberate her unhappy husband. But the judge, although in his heart he pitied her condition, could not help her, as the affair must first be investigated in due form by process of law ; he permitted her, however, to visit her husband. The scene which now followed is indescribable. The poor people wrung their hands, raised them toward Heaven, and called upon God the defender of innocence. The Wea- ver then endeavored to console his poor wife, and begged her to keep firm in her confidence in God, who of a surety would not forsake them in this dreadful need ; for although he had erred, perhaps, in not choosing death rather than accompany the Robbers, yet the Omniscient God knew that he had avoided death only for the sake of his family, and that his love for them alone had rendered him weak, in the hope that God who knew his innocence, would rescue him if he fell into danger. The good people then separated, strengthened in their confidence and reliance upon their Heavenly Father, and the woman returned again to her children. She visited her husband often however, and at every interview they confirmed each other in faith, and offered up prayers. But many robberies which had followed closely, one upon another, had constrained the magistrates to give greater severity to the laws, and in conformity therewith, the poor Weaver had incurred the penalty of the gallows, as he had Been taken with the band. But the worst of all was this ; the Captain had conspired with his comrades to bring the Weaver to the gallows, cost what it might ; in pursuance of this plan they had agreed together as to what each one should testify with regard to him at the trial. The Captain maintained that the Weaver had been engaged in several robberies with them before, and then named the places, and the evidence of the rest was in conformity with his. When then the judge examined them all together, and the poor AN AFFECTING TALE. 25 Weaver protested his innocence, the Robbers were able to give such an air of probability to their assertions, that no doubt remained of their truth, nay, they even asked if he had no fear of God before his eyes so to persist in his denial. Thus one examination followed another, and the innocent Weaver had no advocate but bitter tears. The testimony was at last closed, and given in to the criminal tribunal.; the latter pronounced sentence that the "Weaver should be hanged first, and then the others, after they had witnessed the execution of their companion ; with this difference however, that their bodies were to be broken on the wheel and quartered. After the prince had affixed his signature to the sentence, it was made known to the pris- oners, who were informed that it would be carried into exe- cution within three days. The compassion of the whole country was excited for the Weaver, for every one thought him innocent. The Clergy- man who had married him, often visited him, and found him, as will readily be imagined, in a most disconsolate condition. He endeavored to strengthen him by the consolations of reli- gion, and prayed with him with great fervency, so that the good man at last took courage, and resigned himself to the will of God. His wife cried loudly to Heaven for rescue, and on the day before the execution, she ran in haste with stream- ing hair to the capitol, and desired to speak with the prince. Now it chanced that at the prince's table at dinner, the story of a poor man, the father of a family had been related, who although innocent, had fallen a victim to the severity of the laws. This gave those present occasion to speak of the Weaver, for the affair was known at court, and the prince was not without his doubts on the subject. The woman was instantly admitted. Her amiable, honest countenance, and her grief spoke with such force, that tears came into the princess' eyes, and she felt convinced of the man's innocence. She immediately took the poor woman by the hand and led her to the prince. He also was moved to tears and said, " Good woman, 26 AN AFFECTING TALE. your husban'd's life shall be saved ; I will at once send some one to carry an order to this effect to the judge." It was high time indeed, for it was now evening, and at nine o'clock on the following morning, the Weaver was to be led to the gallows. The courier had in the meanwhile, to ride thirty miles. The prince then ordered refreshments to be placed before the woman, who, when she had partaken of them, hurried away with a heart filled with joy, uttering loud thanksgivings to God. But she had scarcely run two leagues when she could go no farther, and was obliged to rest for some hours, so that she did not reach the town until ten o'clock the following morning. But the courier who had been dispatched to bear the par- don to the Weaver, fell from his horse, and dislocated his ankle, so that he was unable to continue his journey ; for- tunately he was near a post house, which he reached with difficulty, and thefe remained. He gave the letter of pardon to the postmaster, who sent it on by a postillion. Its arrival was in this way retarded for several hours. The clock struck nine ; the knell of the criminals echoed in slow and solemn sounds over the city ; first appeared the officers of the police, then came the Weaver accompanied by a clergyman, next the Captain of the band, with the remain- ing prisoners, and last of all the executioner and his assist- ants. A great crowd of people from the city and from the surrounding country followed the procession, which escorted by a company of armed soldiers, moved slowly toward the scaffold. The weaver was silent : his grief had neither tears nor speech ; but many observed that the Robber Captain watched him with great attention. The procession now reached the gallows, and the Weaver was led up the steps. At this instant a postillion came riding up at a gallop ; he placed in the hands of the judge who was present a large letter. The latter tore it open in haste, and exclaimed, "pardon! pardon for the Weaver!" Shouts of joy now arose from the crowd, and it was a long time before silence could be obtained. AN AFFECTING TALE. 27 The Robber Captain now asked permission of the judge to address the assembled crowd. After it had been granted him, he mounted the scaffold, and waved with his hand to oDtain silence. All listened in breathless stillness, and the Robber exclaimed with a loud voice. "THERE is A Goo AND HE is JUST ! Once I did not believe this, and I rioted in sin and crime. Things often happened during my wicked career, however, from which I might have known that then; was a God who ruled this world. I wished to be assured of this however, and 1 thought if I could bring a devout and in- nocent man to my band, and could compel him to participate in our crimes, that this Just God, if there was one indef 1. could not possibly suffer this good and innocent man to undergo a like punishment with ourselves. He could not help bat save him, and so it has actually proved, for the Weaver is perfectly innocent, and is a pious and upright man. I have made the trial with him, and God has rescued him. Yes, truly ! THERE is A GOD AND A JUST GOD !" He now prayed that he might be taken back to prison, de- claring that he had some important confessions to make. He would then, he said, submit willingly to his fate, which lie had in truth, deserved. The Robber's request was granted ; he and his companions were led back to prison again, and placed in chains. During this while the bystanders encouraged the Weaver, and provided him with refreshments ; and as he was making his way out of the crowd, a number of young men approach- ed him, raised him upon their shoulders, and carried him into the town ; others collected money for him, so that he received several hundred crowns. As they were bearing him through the streets, his wife reached the town after her tod- some journey; she saw the gathering of the people, and heard the cry "they are bringing the Weaver! he h i ..-> received a pardon !" and at the same moment she beheld him borne aloft on the shoulders of the young men, and heard the joyful shouts of the crowd. With sobs of delight, she followed the train into the inn. 28 WHO WILL GET THE PRIZE. It is impossible to describe the meeting which ensued be- tween the husband and wife. They were driven home in a carriage for their heavy afflictions had so weakened them that they could not perform the journey on foot. The money which the Weaver had obtained placed him above all want, and God's blessing went with him. This event happened in the year 1788. ETERNITY. Extract from an Unpublished Poem ; BY HENRY VV. LONGFELLOW. ANP yet thou hast not left thyself without A witness ; all we hear, and feel, and see, Within us aad around, forbid to doubt, Yet speak so darkly and mysteriously Of what we are and shall be evermore, We doabt, and yet believe, and tremble and adore ! Thanks be to God ! the glorious day will come, Wherein the soul shall see, and feel, and know I Earth earth is not our everlasting home, But through the shadows of this world below, The spirit journeys onward to the sky, A wayworn pilgrim of eternity. Eternity ! no mortal e'er could break Thy seal of mystery, save him alone Who dwelt in Patmos, for his Saviour's sake, And in his vision saw a great white throne ; And him who sat thereon, before whose face The earth and heaven fled, and found no place ! Eternity ! O let the Dead again Put on their mortal garments and return Give back i give back thy dark and shadowy train, Once more, that they may tell, in words that burn, Thy fearful mysteries of good and ill A voice within us cries, Oh ! Peace 1 be still. THE SPIRIT RIVER. 29 Original. THE SPIRIT RIVER. BY A. W. HOLDEN. A river flows thro' a sunny land, Its waters are pure and bright, As they smoothly glide o'er the golden sand, Or ripple across the ' coral strand,' As sheen as a thing of light And fairy Isles like gems are laid, Within its silvery /one, With grot, and bower, and flow'ring glade, And woodlands too with tempting shade, In wild profusion thrown. And gaily now with shout and song, And light sails fluttering wide, Shallops and barks, a myriad throng With living freight, are floating along The breast of the crystal tide. But little reck those mariners, The perils of the way, Of rocks and whirlpools, reefs and bars, But on they move, like princely cars To festive pageantry. Light wanton zephyrs, flit along Those Isles, with wooing breath ; And pleasures train with siren song, Are waiting there to lead that throng, To misery and death. They stop to roam o'er each fair Isle, With Mirth and Revelry; And Wit and Beauty, Wealth and Wile, With sparkling eye, and winning smile, Still lure them from their way.- 30 THE SPIRIT RIVER, A tempest rages tost and thrown, Upon the rolling wave, Those light frail vessels one by one, With shout and scream and dying groan, Sink to a wat'ry grave. That stream is life's bright sunny tide, Those frail barks, hopes of joy, And singing, gaily on we glide, But sorrow's tempest cannot bide, And so we sink and die. A WORD TO GENTLEMEN. " IT chills my blood to hear the blest Sapreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme ! Maintain your rank ; vulgarity despise ; To SWEAR is neither brave, polite, nor wise. You would not swear upon the bed of death : Reflect, your Maker NOW may stop your breath. ' r BEWARE. IT is a little sin ; it is a trifle. Say not so. Beware. A slight scratch may produce more suffering than the amputa- tion of a leg. The brave warrior who has slain his thousand in battle may be strangled by a hair. The ocean rocks that founder many a gallant bark, are the work of a little worm. A single look from one we devotedly love, may plant daggers in our bosom. A word may ruin us. That glass of cordial, just raised to the lips of a young man may cause his destruc- tion. Beware of trifles. Look to the end. In n other way can you be sure of safety and prosperity. THE YOUNG LADY AND THE WIFE. A LADY should appear to think well of books, rather than to speak well of them ; she may show the engaging light that good taste and sensibility always diffuse over conversation ; she may give instances of great and affecting passages, because they show the fineness of her imagination, or the goodness of her heart ; but all criticism, beyond this, sits awkwardly upon her. She should know more than she dis- plays, because it gives her unaffected powers in discourse ; for the same reason that a man's efforts are easy and firm, when his action requires not his full strength. She should, by habit, form her mind to the noble and pathetic ; and she should have an acquaintance with the fine arts, because they enrich and beautify the imagination ; but she should carefully keep them out of view in the shape of learning, and let them run through the easy vein of unpremeditated thought ; for this reason, she should seldom use, and not always appear to understand, the terms of art ; the gentlemen will occasionally explain them to her. I knew a lady of address, who, when any term of art was mentioned, always turned to the gentleman she had a mind to compliment, and, with uncommon grace, asked him the meaning ; by this means, she gave men the air of superiority they like so well, while she held them in chains. No humor can be more delicate than this, which plays upon the tyrant, who requires an acknowledgment of superiority of sense, as well as power, irom the weaker sex ! 32 THE YOUNG LADY AND THE WIFE. A lady sporting her learning, and introducing her verses upon all occasions, reminds one of a woman, who has a fine hand and arm, a pretty foot, or a beautiful set of teeth, and who is not satisfied with letting them appear as nature and custom authorize, but is perpetually intruding her separate perfections into notice. If a woman neglects the duties of her family and the care of her children if she is less amiable as a wife, mother, or mistress, because she has talents or acquirements, it would be far better if she were without them ; and when she displays that she has more knowledge than her husband, she shows, at least, that no woman can have less sense than her- self. There is no great need of enforcing upon an unmarried lady the ne- cessity of being agreeable ; nor is there any great art requisite in a youthful beauty to enable her to please. Nature has multiplied at- tractions around her. Youth is in itself attractive. The freshness of budding beauty needs no aid to set it off; it pleases merely because it is fresh, and budding, and beautiful. But it is for the married state that a woman needs the most instruction, and in which she should be most on her guard to maintain her powers of pleasing. No woman, can expect to be to her husband all that he fancied her when a lover. Men are always duped, not so much by the arts of the sex, as by their own imaginations. They are always wooing goddesses, and marrying mere mortals. A woman should, therefore, ascertain what was the charm that rendered her so fascinating when a girl, and en- deavor to keep it up when she has become a wife. One great thing undoubtedly was, the chariness of herself and her conduct, which an unmarried female always observes. She should maintain the same ticeness and reserve in her person and habits, and endeavor still to preserve a freshness and delicacy in the eye of her husband. She should remember that the province of a woman is to be wooed, not to woo ; to be caressed, not to caress. Man is an ungrateful being in love ; bounty loses rather than wins him. DIFFERENT IDEAS OF BEAUTY. IT is difficult to form any punctual notions of beauty. Qualities of personal attraction, the most opposite imaginable, are each looked upon as beautiful in. different countries, or by different people in the same country. " That which is deformity at Paris, may be beauty at Pekin !" -"Beauty, thou -wild fantastic ape. Who dost in every country change thy shape ; Here "black, there "brown, here tawny, and there white !" The frantic lover sees " Helen's beauty in an Egyptian brow." The black teeth, the painted eyelids, the plucked eyebrows, of the Chinese fair, have admirers ; and should their feet be large enough to walk upon, their owners are regarded as monsters of ugliness. The Lilliputian dame is the beau ideal of perfection in the eyes of a northern gallant ; while in Patagonia they have a Polyphemus-standard of beauty. Some of the North American nations tie four boards round the heads of their children, and thus squeeze them, while the bones are yet tender, into a square form. Some prefer the form of a sugar- loaf ; others have a quarrel with the natural shortness of the ears, and therefore from infancy those are drawn down upon the shoulders ! With the modern Greeks, and other nations on the shores of the Mediterranean, corpulency is the perfection of form in a woman ; and those very attributes which disgust the western European, form the attractions of an oriental fair. It was from the common and admired shape of his countrywomen, that Rubens in his pictures delights so much in a vulgar and odious plumpness : when this master was desi- rous to represent the " beautiful," he had no idea of beauty under two hundred weight. His very Graces are all fat. The hair is a beautiful ornament of woman, but it has always been a disputed point which color most becomes it. We account red hair unhandsome ; but in the time of Elizabeth it found admirers, and 34 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. was in fashion. Mary of Scotland, though she had exquisite hair of her own, wore red fronts. Cleopatra was red-haired ; and the Vene- tian ladies at this day counterfeit yellow hair. But where are we to detect its especial source of power ? Often forsooth in a dimple, sometimes beneath the shade of an eyelid, or perhaps among the recesses of a little fantastic curl ! The fit of admi- ration seizes us without warning, and either disposition, or our weak- ness, favors the surprise. One look, one glance, may fix and deter- mine us. Few are there that can withstand " the sly smooth attraction of a fair young face." " It calls the cynic from his tub to woo." Led by no sense as they are by the eyes, you may see the most sober men content to lock up their wishes in the meshes of a little auburn hair. Many could demonstrate to perfection the eligibility of freedom to servitude, and yet are practically too weak to resist the sensual allure- ments of some pretty casuist : a touch, soft as the brush from the pinions of the dove, winds them to her purpose. "Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare. And beauty draws us -with, a single hair !" , We seek not here to revolt the enthusiasm of any man, or to warp any natural bias that may be felt toward the daughters of men ; yet how far an unmitigated dotage upon beauty is reasonable, no one in his sober senses can hesitate to decide. 'Tis a composition we can all admire ; it exists doubtless for peculiar ends ; but let it maintain its legitimate influence, and be bounded there. The privilege of being first heard, it is always likely to have ; but must it always continue to take place of everything, ordinary and extraordinary ? " For what admirest thou, what transports thee so ? An outside ? Fair, no doubt and worthy well Thy cherishing, thy honoring, and thy love Not thy subjection. '" Yet this influence, vast as it is, is but for a while ; it is " a short- lived tyranny." It is an electrifier, the power of which only endures while an adventitious property abides with it. The holyday-time of beauty has its date, and 'tis the penalty of nature that girls must fade and wither, as their grandmothers have done before them DIFFERENT IDEAS OF BEAUTY WOMAN 3 INFLUENCE, ETC. 35 The venerable abbey, and aged oak, are the more beautiful in their decay ; and many are the charms around us, both of art and nature, that may still linger and please. The breaking wave is most graceful at the moment of its dissolution ; the sun, when setting, is still beauti- ful and glorious, and though the longest day must have its evening, yet is the evening as beautiful as the morning ; the light deserts us, but it is to visit us again ; the rose retains after-charms for sense, and though it fall into decay, it renews its glories at the approach of anoth- er spring. But for woman there is no second May ! " Stat sua suique dies." To each belongs her little day ; and time, that gives new whiteness to the swan, gives it not unto woman ! WOMAN'S INFLUENCE. LIKE the olive-tree said to fertilize the surrounding soil there are some few ministering angels in female guise among us, all and about our paths, who sweetly serve to cheer and adorn life. Our amusements are insipid unless they contribute to them ; our efforts of noblest ambition feeble, unless they applaud its rewards valueless, unless they share them ! There are, too, some rude spirits in the world, whose bolder natar^tfemale influence admirably serves to refine and temper ; and perhaps it is not an extreme eulogium of the poet that without that influence many a man had been " a brute indeed !" The concurrence of both sexes is as necessary to the perfection of our being, as to the existence of it : man may make a fine melody, but woman is also required to make up harmony ! SELFISHNESS IF, in the wide catalogue of human faults, there be one more than another which we would cover with our hand as the most unsightly blot upon human nature, it is the vice of selfishness. There are faults that may be wept over, but this is not one of them ; and crimes, spring- ing directly from the passions, seem almost venial compared with that habitual, undisguised self- worship which is the offspring of a mean soul. 'Tis a blemish that stands out grossly to the eye more " Than lying, vainness, tattling, drrnkenness, Or ANT taint of vice, -whose strong corruption Inherits our frail tlood I" * 36 TOUCHING ANECDOTE. TOUCHING ANECDOTE. DURING the French Revolution Mademoiselle Sombruil had been eight days with her father in prison when the unhappy massacres of September commenced. After many prisoners had been murdered, and the sight of blood continually flow- ing seemed only to increase the rage of the assassins, while the wretched inmates of the prison endeavored to hide them- selves from the death that hovered over them, Mademoiselle Sombruil rushed into the presence of the murderers who had seized her father. " Barbarians !" she cried, " hold your hands, he is my father !" She threw herself at their feet. In one moment she seized the hand which was lifted against her father, and in the next she offered her own person to the sword, so placing herself that the parent could not be struck but. through the body of his child. So much courage and filial affection in so young a girl for a moment diverted the attention of the assassins. She perceived that they hesitated, and seized on the favorable opportunity. While she entreated for her father's life one of the monsters proposed the following condition : " Drink," said he, " a glass of blood and save your father." She shuddered, and retreated some paces ; but filial affection gained the ascendency, and she yielded to the horri- ble condition. " Innocent or guilty," said one of those who performed the office of judge, " It is unworthy of the people to bathe their hands in the blood of the old man, since they must first destroy this virtuous girl." A cry of " pardon !" was heard. The daughter, revived by this signal of safety, threw herself into her father's trembling arms, which scarcely had power to press her to his bosom, being overcome by such powerful affection and so providential a deliverance. Even the most outrageous assassins were unable to restrain their tears ; and the father and daughter were triumphantly con- ducted to a place of comfort and safety. LEAVES FROM THE NOTE BOOK OF A GOVERNESS. 37 "Tain therefore no thought for the morrow; for the morrow shall take thought for the nings of Itself." Matt. vi. 34. I WOULD not turn aside the veil That hides the future from ray eye, And through the mists of distant years Discern my coming destiny ; I would not know If joy or woe Shall mark the moments as they fly. By memory's aid I backward glance,- And as I view my past career, And mark the contents of its page, A varied picture meets me there. In light and shade It stands portrayed, Here bright with joy, there dark with caie. And thus shall be my future life A cup of mingled grief and joy ; A child of earth can never find Pure happiness without alloy : Our strength is frail, And pleasures fail, And soon the wearied mind will dcy. I know my fate is in His hands Whose wisdom guides the rolling year, Whose power upholds Creation's plan, Whose mercy saves from dangers near ; In His control I leave my all, Safe in his love, why should I fear? ADA. LEAVES FROM THE NOTE BOOK OF A GOVERNESS BY LAURA LOVELL. WOODVALE ! What a host of sweet recollections does the name awaken. I see the gate, venerable in its antiquity 38 LEAVES FROM THE NOTE BOOK OF A GOVERNESS. which, opening on the public road, warns the passing travel- ler that beyond " the dark pine grove" there lies a home. Once more I follow the windings of the green and shady lane, and emerge at length before the grassy lawn and the white mansion over which the clustering multiflora has flung its clasping tendrils. I see the tall locusts before the dwelling, the little garden opening from the lawn, the pas- tures in the distance, the various forms of animal life which people the scene. Come, and let us go into the little garden and see the blossoming trees and the rose bushes. Then we will wander down the oak grove behind the house to the spring. But see, on the hill where the grove is thickest, how profusely the dead autumnal leaves lie scattered. And beneath them, in a corner far removed from the sound of childish mirth or the hum of busy labor, are the graves of the family. There, side by side, sleep the aged grandfather, a man of God, gone to his reward the father and mother, the eldest and youngest of their lovely children within six months consigned to the grave. Consumption fastened upon that sweet blossom in early womanhood beauty, accom- plishments, earthly affection could not save it from the de- stroyer and the opening bud left in a bleak world without the support of the parent stem withered too and died ere its blossoming withered? ah no! in all its freshness and promise it was transplanted to bloom with the dear ones gone before, in the Paradise of God. Four orphan bereaved ones are still left to mourn. They have clung together through all their trials ; the oldest a lovely girl of eighteen, and the youngest a little fairy of five years. I see now before me that sweet innocent face, that gentle and artless smile, those winning ways that so touched the heart of the stran- ger. Ye are scattered far and wide, away from the home of your childhood, the hearth of your ancestry Nay more ! that home must pass into the hands of strangers and now ye take of the happy haunts of your early years, of the graves of your kindred, a final farewell. Not long since I received a letter from Sophia, in which she says, " I have a favor to ask of you write me a ' Fare- well to Woodvale.' We are about to part with our dear sweet old home, and I cannot leave it without taking my farewell LEAVES FROM THE NOTE BOOK OF A GOVERNESS. 39 in verse." I could not do otherwise than comply, though I felt inadequate to the task and so I have written a FAREWELL TO WOODVALE. Green wave the oaks around thee, home Taeloved, Where oft in infancy our footsteps roved ; Bright glow the roseate clusters of the vine, Whose clinging tendrils round thy casements twin, Sweet is the murmur of the summer breeze, Which softly sighs amid the waving trees ; Over the green-robed lawn, returning spring Shall bid the locusts their white blossoms fling ; Still shall the birds their joyous music wake, From every waving bough, and spray, and brake ^ Yet to each shady nook and quiet dell, Sadly we bid a long and last farewell. Farewell, green haunts of careless infancy, Where glad hearts wandered forth with steps as Iree, Ye are not changed ; round each familiar spot, Cluster sweet memories ne'er to be forgot ; The music of loved voices still we hear. Forms well-remembered to our sight appear, Each verdant dell, green tree, and grassv knol'.. Hath its own secret history to the soirl, Filling our eyes with tears, as now to you Beloved home, we bid a last adieu. Beneath the shadows of the tall oaks lying. In quiet slumber those who loved us rest ; When 'neath autumnal skies the foliage dying, Hath strewn with its bright leaves the green ear*t>'. breast, Mingling in music of a happier sphere, No more their voices fall on mortal ear ; Here hoary age and helpless infancy, Beside eacli other in the dark grave lie. In the dark grave ! oh no ! the lifeless olay, There waits the summons of the final day : The spirits of our lost ones dwell above, In regions of eternal lignt and love. Father in Heaven ! oh, hear the orphan's prayer, Grant them thy strength, life's future ills to bear, Be thou their friend, their help in years to come, And safely guide them to a heavenly home. Original. PROTECTION. L. M. C. DISSLKT. 1. To thee, God, my eve - ning song With A ^ M A ^B ^P ^B ^P~ - ___ { , 2. My days un - cloud-ed as they pass, And 3. When eve- ning shades en - fold mine eyes, With r~~rnr''T~r~rr~ 1 '"~l~ i=ad -^tBfflF grate-ful heart and voice I '11 raise ; O let thy mer - cy b" ". rr~i [ -T K I f 1 !-- I " ' t- .-p- - ..__ .__. n I I [ i r-fc*-r-W- _r~ eve - ry gent-ly roll - ing hour Are mon - u-ments of thy pro - tec-tion I am blest ; On thee, O Lord, my , _ ^S^. ___j i | i / j>_ ^^^^^^g^E SC ^-p- I pi 1 \- 9 m --\ \~{-\ ^T-l-ei Y i i i r tune my tongue, And fill my heart with ho - ly praise. I | I /^ ___ II- f* dip-: P~r: H 1 E ^' a|L won - drous grace, And wit-ness to thy love and power. >^k JgHEffiSF^ ^K. I ' rrnd ii hope re - lies ; In thee I move, in thee I rest. T, Hirlra ?,v\ expressly for th.e Tainily Original. THE LOST SON. THE DESCENDING SCALE. "A PIN A PENNY A POUND- A PENALTY PERDITION!" EDITORIAL. MR. and Mrs. Mansel had two children, a son and daugh- ter. Mr. Mansel was a man of sterling principle, and mild amiable disposition. His mind had been disciplined and im- proved by study and general reading, and he had enjoyed the advantages of a religious education. Happily he be- came pious in youth. He possessed those qualities which fitted him as well for the duties and pleasures of the domes- tic circle, as for the difficulties and responsibilities of public life. Mrs. Mansel was the child of affluent parents, and had been spoiled by indulgence, and ruined by neglect. Bred in the school of fashion and vanity, with a volatile, un- governable temper, she was allowed to be her own mistress, and even to domineer over her parent. She would not sub- mit to the toil and drudgery of study ; hence she made no solid attainments, but her education was limited to a superfi- cial acquaintance with the ornamental branches, such as music, painting and dancing. Mr. Mansel fancied Miss Crawford, was smitten with her beauty, and ensnared with the witchery of her charms, ere he had l :< rie to ascertain whether she possessed more solid and substantial 1 qualifications. Miss Crawford, in her turn, admired Mr. Ma^sel's fine form, and noble, dignified de- meanor, and those higher qualifications which are the pas- VOL. VI. NO. 2. 46 THE LOST SON. port to honor, and she felt that a union with such an one would be a triumph worthy of being achieved. And so, they were married. Too late he discovered his error, and like all those who marry for love or money purely, he was left to experience the bitter fruits of his choice. The birth of their children seemed to supply new links to bind them together after the bonds of love were dissolved. Yet one of these, through the indiscretion and folly of the mother, proved a bone of contention, and the source of great and lasting unhappiness. Walter resembled his father in looks, and his mother in disposition ; and though Mr. Man- sel's heart was full of the milk of human kindness, and, from the beginning, he labored assiduously to win the love and respect of his son, his heart inclined only to his mother and he was wholly ruled by her. Mrs. Mansel had no relish for serious converse or serious things, but had a passionate fond- ness for the society of the gay, and found pleasure only in a fashionable round of amusements. When, therefore, Mr. Mansel determined to establish religious worship in his fam- ily and entered upon the work of religious instruction, he met with no small opposition. At first when he engaged in worship, she would retire from the room, and on one occa- sion when he rose from his knees, he found the children also had left the room. It was a sore trial, but he bore it patiently. For a long time he was silent, and when he spoke to Mrs. M. it was with tears and in the language of tender expostulation. At last she yielded so far, as to remain during prayer time with the children. But neither his entreaties nor his tears could conquer her aversion to these holy duties. She was sullen and morose, and the children caught the infection and were restless and sour in his presence. He persevered until Mrs. M. had learned to subdue these outward sym^loms of dislike and opposition, and the little circle pre? .iited an as- pect of order and decency during the sea c un of family wor- ship. Still the feeling of dissatisfacti-" ^ rankled in her breast, and the Word of God and pio',j exhortation was submitted to. as a mere dead form in which she took no pleasure. THE LOST SON. 47 Under the tuition of his mother, Walter's feelings of oppo- sition to his father's rule, became more and more settled and confirmed, and he generally slept or played in time of prayer, or wriggled about in his chair. Walter was Mrs. M's. darl- ing child, who reflected her image and faithfully imitated all her actions. In her eyes he was perfect. The more per- verse and disobedient he was, the more she flattered and caressed him ; and when, at any time, his father reproved or counseled him, she gave no dubious signs of dissatisfaction. She could not accuse him of severity in his government, for he was always mild and patient, and ever ready to forgive and encourage his children to do right. He ruled them not with a rod of iron, but with the sceptre of love. He would not indeed permit his authority to be trampled on, nor yet would he break the bruised reed. He gave Mrs. M. no just reason at any time to complain, yet it seems to have been a fixed principle with her never to coincide with him in his requisitions and efforts to lead his son in the way he should go. Even his efforts to teach him good manners were uni- formly counteracted by unseasonable apologies or ill judged compliments. But her opposition did not stop here ; it was displayed also when Mr. M. sought to teach his son GOOD MORALS. Often he inculcated the importance of TRUTH and HONESTY. On one occasion, he said to Walter, ' He who STEALS will LIE to conceal it. You should be honest then in the smallest matter. He that will steal a PIN will soon steal a PENNY, and then something more valuable. This is the process or descending scale ; first a PIN, then a PENNY, a POUND, a PEN- ALTY, PERDITION." "Walter, my son," exclaimed Mrs. M. much excited, " you may take as many of MY pins as you please ! I'm not afraid you'll become a thief." Then turn- ing to Mr. Mansel she said, " what if my child should take a penny that's no killing matter ? " Shocked at this speech, Mr. M. in a tone of deep seriousness, remarked, " My dear, it was my object to inculcate a fundamental principle and to show Walter what the commission of, what some errone- 48 THE LOST SON. ously call a small sin, will lead to. A pin is a trifle, and a penny is a trifle ; the stealing of a penny would not impov- erish me, but it MIGHT LEAD TO THE RUIN OF MY SON." Mrs. M. caring more for victory than truth, and the more des- perate for being hard pressed, raised her alto voice to a still higher pitch and thus delivered herself, " I can tell you Mr. M. my son is too good ever to do or be what I plainly see, you suspect him of. Poor, dear boy ! you are putting thoughts into his head which he had never once imagined. Just think what senseless jargon, what foolish rhapsody ! a PIN, a PENNY, a POUND, a PENALTY, PERDITION ! mind what I say, if Walter becomes wicked, it will be because you have taught him the way." This speech failed of its object upon the father, but the poison entered the son's mind. Mr. Mansel calmly replied, " It was my aim, to show my son how insensibly persons may turn aside from the path of duty, and how deplorable may be the consequences of the FIRST mistep, to put him on his guard. If the best way to avoid danger is to be insensible and blind to it, then it would be safe to put a bandage on the eyes of my son." Then turning to Walter, he said, " my son, out of my great solici- tude for your happiness, I have taught you what evils will flow from the smallest departure from the strait line of rectitude and truth ; I have described the ladder which leads down by successive steps to ruin. This it is a PIN, a PENNY, a POUND, a PENALTY, PERDITION ! Avoid taking the iirr.t step in this downward path and you are safe. Beware of the FIRST sin ; like a pin, it may seem but a trifle, but it may lead to greater sins and end in your ruin." The solemn lesson made no good impression on the mind of Walter ; he rose up sulky and left the room muttering, a PIN ! a PIN ! a PENNY ! what nonsense ! Mrs. M. soon followed, but not without casting a look of scorn behind her, and spitefully remarking. " forever goading my poor son ! if any thing will ruin him, it will be such treatment !" Under swch trials Mr. Mansel's only support was in prayer. He dreaded an open rupture and separation from THE LOST SON. 49 his wife. Yet, such an event did not strike him with so much horror, as the prospect of the certain ruin of his child under the tuition of such a mother. In vain did he reason with her in private. He implored her to have compassion on her son ; he begged that if she would not help him in his efforts to save the child, she would not HINDER him. But all his appeals were wasted on her ; there were no principles to respond to them from within, and it only made the matter w T orse. A day or two after this conversation, the conduct of Wal- ter furnished an illustration of the principle of the descending scale. Mrs. Mansel missed her elegant gold PIN which she prized above all her trinkets. She immediately charged the servant maid with the theft. In her rage, she hastily sum- moned the poor girl into the parlor, and before Mr. Mansel and the children, pronounced her the guilty one, and threat- ened to send her to jail if she did not immediately restore the pin. She had not given the girl a moments time for explanation, when she found herself arraigned as the guilty criminal. She knew what had become of the pin and her only refuge from the disgrace now put upon her, wns to disclose the fact. Turning then to Walter and fixing her swimming eyes upon him, she asked him where his mother's pin was ? Without a blush, the brazen boy replied, " I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT IT." The girl then turned to Mr. Mansel and observed ; she had seen him with the pin that morning, and no doubt it would be found in his pocket. Mrs. Mansel's eyes flashed like lightning at the girl and in a shrill voice, she said, "How dare you accuse my son, you impudent thing!' '"Madam," the poor thing tremblingly said, "I assure you I meant no disrespect to you ; but what I say is true, and if you examine you will find it so." " Hold your tongue you lying wretch," said Mrs. Mansel, still more irri- tated, " No one shall search my noble son's pocket ! " Here a pause ensued, while Mr. Mansel silently pondered on the step next to be taken, to elicit the truth. The only expedi- ent immediately occurred to him. '-Mrs. Mansel," said he 50 THE LOST SON. in a mild voice, " No one shall search your son but yourself; and doubtless he will be willing to have you examine his pockets." To so conciliating a proposition, she could not well object ; she therefore bid Walter come to her. She hastily thrust her hand into one of his pockets, when sud- denly she screamed, as though in great pain, and turned pale as death. Mr. Mansel prevented her from falling, and as her hand was drawn out of the pocket, the pin which had entered deep under one of her nails, HUNG DANGLING FROM HER FINGER ; he quickly, yet with much exertion, drew it forth, which caused her still more pain, she shrieked aloud again and fainted. On recovering, she cast a look of anger upon her husband, who was supporting her in his arms and said in a tone scarcely audible. " Why, what a shame ! what is all this fuss ! IT is ONLY A PIN ; it is no killing thing. I would rather lose ten such pins, than have my son mortified thus." Filled with astonishment, Mr. Mansel handed her the fatal pin, and returned to his seat. Walter still main- tained his brazen front, and boldly said, " Ma told me I might take her pins when I pleased It is NOTHING AFTER ALL BUT A PIN." Mr. Mansel could no longer suppress his emotions, but casting a searching glance at his wife, he said, " you see my dear, by your advice, your son has descended the FIRST step of the ladder. FIRST a PIN ! mark my word, it will not be long ere he takes the second step." At this the circle broke up ; Walter flung himself out of the door ; muttering, " A PIN, A PIN ! WHAT is A PIN ?" Not long after this, Walter took the second step. The first opportunity which presented, he slipped a penny slily into his pocket, on discovering which, his mother laughingly said, "you little rogue, you have taken my penny;" to which he gaily replied, " Why ma, you know it is only a penny FIRST A PIN, THEN A PENNY, you know." Yes my son, I know it, it is only a penny, a mere trifle ; if you never do any thing worse than this, you shall not be scolded by me." Walter was now ten years of age, stout and hand- some. At this early age, he had taken the two first steps THE LOST SON. 51 down the ladder of crime, and he found that descent easy and pleasant made so by the hand of his own mother. He saw no evil in his course. It was not long ere he took the THIRD STEP. One day Mr. Mansel was suddenly called down stairs from his study, and left the money drawer of his secretary open. On his return, he met Walter hurrying from the room, with his hand in his pocket. The moment he cast his eye upon the drawer, he missed the silver it con- tained. On inquiring of the servant, he learned that Mrs, Mansel and Walter had gone out. He put on his hat and went immediately to the nearest business street, and soon seeing Mrs. Mansel and her son entering a dry good store, he paused a few moments to take breath and compose him- self, and then followed them into the shop. He entered just as Walter was emptying his pocket of the silver to pay for the articles his mother had hastily purchased. There was every shilling he had missed ; Mr. Mansel said nothing, but walked back in silence with them, not daring to open his lips till he had somewhat recovered from the shock he had received. The next morning he called his family to- gether for worship, as usual, and after reading that portion of the apostles writings which contain the words, " let him that stole, steal no more," he knelt and fervently prayed for his family and for his son, in particular ; and fast as his pe- petitions arose, his tears fell. The grief of her father touched the heart of Lucy and she sobbed aloud. When he arose and the servant had left the room, he paused a mo- ment and then said to Mrs. Mansel " the all-seeing eye of God has witnessed the sad event which has transpired in this house within a few hours. Yes, true it is, my son, has TAKEN THE THIRD STEP a POUND ! this is at least the sum taken from my drawer." Conscience smitten, Mrs. Mansel made no reply this time, but left the room in silence. To be concluded. 52 LOOK ALOFT. LOOK ALOFT. In the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale Are around and above ; if thy footing should fail If thine eyes should grow dim and thy caution depart, " Look aloft " and be firm and be fearless of heart. If the friends who embraced in prosperity's glow With a smile for each joy and a tear for each woe, Should betray thee when sorrow like clouds are arrayed, " Look aloft," to the friendship that never shall fade ! Should the visions which hope spreads in light to thine eye Like the tints of the rainbow brighten to fly, Then turn and through tears of repentant regret, " Look aloft," to the Sun that is never to set. Should they who are dearest ; the son of thy heart, The wife of thy bosom in sorrow depart, " Look aloft," from the darkness and dust of the tomb, To that land where " affection is ever in bloom." And oh .' when death comes, in terrors to cast His fears on the future, his pall on the past, In that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart And a smile in thine eye, "Look aloft" and depart ! These lines were suggested by a striking fact, related by Dr. Godman, of a boy who was about to fall from the rigging, and was saved only by the mate'* impressive exclamation, " LOOK ALOFT !" CHRISTIANITY. CHRISTIANITY did not come from heaven to be the amuse ment of an idle hour, to be the food of mere imagination ; to be " as a very lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and playeth well upon an instrument. No : it is intended to be the guide, the companion of all our hours : it is intended to be the serious occupation of our whole existence. THE NATURAL BRIDGE. 53 THE NATURAL BRIDGE. OR, ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST. BY E. BURITT. THE scene opens with a view of the great Natural Bridge in Virginia. There are three or four lads standing in the channel below, looking up with awe to that vast arch of unhewn rocks, which the Almighty bridged over those everlasting hutments " when the morning stars sang to- gether." The little piece of sky spanning those measureless piers, is full of stars, although it is mid day. It is almost five hundred feet from where they stand, up those perpen- dicular bulwarks of limestone, to the key rock of that vast grand arch, which appears to them only of the size of a man's hand. The silence of death is rendered more im- pressive by the little stream that falls from rock to rock down the channel. The sun is darkened and the boys have unconsciously uncovered their heads, as if standing in the presence chamber of the Majesty of the whole earth. At last this feeling begins to wear away ; they begin to look around them ; they find that others have been there before them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the limestone hutments. A new feeling comes over their young hearts, and their knives were in their hands in an instant. " What man has done, man can do," is their watchword, while they draw themselves up and carve their names a foot above those of a hundred full grown men who have been there before them. * The description of this thrilling scene, we heard from the lips of the learned Blacksmith, in Broadway Tabc-rnacle, before the New York Lyceum. But written Linkage, expressed even in the graphic style of the writer himself, must ever fail to give an adequate idea of the KFFECT produced on the great assembly by (he impressive manner in which it \vasdelivered. F.D. 54 THE NATURAL BRIDGE. They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion, except one, whose example illustrates perfectly the forgot- ten truth, that there is NO ROYAL ROAD TO INTELLECTUAL EMI- NENCE. This ambitious youth sees a name just above his reach, a name that will be green in the memory of the world when those of Alexander, Caesar, and Bonaparte shall rot in oblivion. It was the name of WASHINGTON. Before he marched with Braddock to that fatal field, he had been there, and left his name a foot above all his predecessors. It was a glorious thought of the boy, to write his name side by side with that of the great father of his country. He grasps his knife with a firmer hand, and clinging to a little jutting crag, he cuts again into the limestone, about a foot above where he stands, he then reaches up and cuts another for his hands. 'Tis a dangerous adventure ; but as he puts his feet and hands into those gains, and draws himself up care- fully to his full length, he finds himself a foot above every name chronicled in that mighty wall. While his compan- ions are regarding him with much concern and admiration, he cuts his name in rude capitals, large and deep, into that flinty album. His knife is still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, and a new created aspiration hi his heart. Again he cuts another niche, and again he carves his name in large capitals. This is not enough. Heedless of the entreaties of his companions, he cuts and climbs again. The gradua- tion of his ascending scale grows wider apart. He mea- sures his length at every gain he cuts. The voices of his friends wax weaker and weaker, till their words are finally lost on his ear. He now for the first time cast a look be- neath him. Had that glance lasted a moment, that moment would have been his last. He clings with a convulsive shudder to his little niche in the rock. An awful abyss awaits his almost certain fall. He is faint with severe ex- ertion, and trembling from the sudden view of the dreadful destruction to which he is exposed. His knife is worn half way to the haft. He can hear the voices, but not the words of his terror stricken companions below. What a moment ! THE NATURAL BRIDGET. 55 What a meagre chance to escape destruction ! There is no retracing his steps. It is impossible to put his hands into the same niche with his feet and retain his- slender hold a moment. His companions instantly perceive this new and fearful dilemma, and await his fall with emotions that " freeze their young blood." He is too high, too faint, to ask for his father and mother, his brothers and sisters, to come and witness or avert his destruction. But one of his compan- ions anticipates his desire. Swift as the wind, he bounds down the channel, and the situation of the fated boy is told on his father's hearth stone. Minutes of almost eternal length rolled on, and there are hundreds standing in that rocky channel, and hundreds stand- ing on the bridge above, all holding their breath, and await- ing the fearful catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum of new and numerous voices both above and below. He can distinguish the tones of his father, who is shouting with all the energy of despair, " William ! William ! don't look down ! Your mother, and Henry, and Harriet, are all here, praying for you ! Don't look down ! Keep your eye to- wards the top !" His eye is fixed like a flint towards Hea- ven, and his young heart on Him who reigns there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche, and another foot is added to the hundreds that remove him from the reach of human help below. How carefully he uses his wasting blade ! How anxiously he selects the softest places in that vast pier ! How he avoids every flinty grain ! How he economizes his physical powers ! resting a moment each gain he cuts. How every motion is watched from below ! There stands his father, mother, brother and sister, on the very spot where, if he falls, he will not fall alone. The sun is now half way down the west. The lad has made fifty additional niches in that mighty wall, and now finds himself directly under the middle of that vast arch of rocks, earth, and trees. He must cut his way in a new direction, to get from under this over-hanging mountain. The inspiration of hope is dying in his bosom ; its vital heat 56 THE NATURAL BRIDGE. is fed by the increasing shouts of hundreds perched upon cliffs and trees, and others who stand with ropes hi their hands on the bridge above, or with ladders below. Fifty gains more must be cut before the longest rope can reach him. His wasting blade strikes again into the limestone. The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot, from under that lofty arch. Spliced ropes are ready in the hands of those who are leaning over the outer edge of the bridge. Two minutes more and all will be over. That blade is worn to the last half inch. The boy's head reels, his eyes are start- ing from their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart, his life must hang upon the gain he cuts. That niche is the last. At the last faint gash he breaks his knife, his faithful knife falls from his little nerveless hand, and falls at his mother's feet. An involuntary groan of despair runs like a death knell through the channel below, and all is still as the grave. At the height of nearly three hundred feet, the de- voted boy lifts his hopeless heart and closing eyes to com- mend his soul to God. 'Tis but a moment there ! one foot swings off! he is reeling trembling toppling over to eternity ! Hark ! a shout falls on his ear from above ! The man w r ho is lying over the bridge has caught a glimpse of the boy's head and shoulders. Quick as thought the noosed rope was within reach of the sinking youth. No one breathes. With a faint convulsive effort, the swooning boy drops his arms into the noose darkness comes over him, and with the words GOD ! and MOTHER ! whispered on his lips just loud enough to be heard in Heaven the tightening rope lifts him out of his last shallow niche. Not a lip moves while he is dangling over that fearful abyss : but when a sturdy Virginian reaches down and draws up the lad, and holds him up in his arms before the tearful, breathless mul- titude, such shouting such leaping and weeping for joy never greeted the ear of human being so recovered from the yawning gulph of eternity. 58 THE MECHANIC DIVINE. THE MECHANIC DIVINE, OR, INDUSTRY REWARDED. A proud Welch squire, took it into his head to be very angry with a poor Curate, who employed his leisure hours in mending clocks and watches, and actually applied to Dr. Shipley, Bishop of St. Asaph, with a formal complaint against him, for impiously carrying on a trade. His lord- ship having heard the complaint, told the squire he might depend upon it that the strictest justice should be done in the case ; accordingly the mechanic divine was sent for a few days after, when the bishop asked him " How he dared to disgrace his diocese by becoming a mender of clocks and watches?" The man with all humility answered, " To satisfy the wants of a wife and ten children !" " That won't do with me," rejoined the prelate ; " I'll inflict such a punishment on you, as shall make you leave off your pitiful trade, I promise you ;" and immediately calling his secre- tary, ordered him to make out a presentation for the aston- ished Curate, to a living of at least one hundred and fifty pounds, per annum. REFLECTIONS. It is not often that we see virtue thus rewarded in this cold and selfish world, and men in power stooping to confer honor on those who, in the deepest poverty, submit to the most self-denying labors, to maintain a conscience void of offence towards God and man. Such an instance of pure generosity and discriminating justice as is here presented, reveals a redeeming trait in human nature, and furnishes a beautiful illustration of that noble scripture maxim, " It is more blessed , to give than to re- ceive." Where ministers receive an incompetent salary, how can they be expected to devote themselves wholly to the ministry ? They must live. Some ministers who are poorly paid must work or suffer. While some clergymen receive their thousands, others are left deplorably poor. EDS. SHADOWS OF THE PAST. 59 Original. MISS TYNDAL. SHADOWS OF THE PAST. W BY THE AUTHOR OF ROSLYN CASTLE. AMID thickly clustered tokens of wealth, uniting the skill of genius, and the graceful superiority of nature, sadly mused Miss Tyndal, on whose fair brow rested a shade of discontent not in keeping with the bright and joyous objects around her. A spirit palled by luxury is easily disturbed by the slight- est opposition to its cravings, and they who study the human heart most closely feel least surprise at witnessing the clouded brow of opulence. There was, however, something in the grief of this young being very unlike the morbid irritability of the worn out Sy- barite, or the repining petulence of a spoiled worldling. There was a depth of expression, an intensity of thought in her pensive eyes, bespeaking a higher influence than ever springs from outward circumstances. No peevish longing for unattainable worldly good, thus moved her young heart. No thankless discontent with the heaped up luxuries around her. No sad forebodings for the distant future, threw their dark shadows over her sunny present. Her's was the high discontent of an awakened spirit dissatisfied with itself. What to her was the pomp and magnificence amid which she moved, compared with that unfading glory, once unprized, but now sought for with unfaltering faith. As yet on the threshhold of life, with a heart prone to gaiety and pleasure, she had joined the reckless followers of fashion, and was soon one of its most ardent votaries. But not for such a life as this, had Providence gifted her with unusual talent and strength of intellect. Not for this, had a good mother 60 SHADOWS OF THE PAST. prayed, as only prays a mother, for the gift of a pure heart, and religious life, for her child. Not for this, had she joined her infant hands in prayer ere she sank to rest, lingering to gaze on the young sleeper, committing her to His care who alone could keep her as sinless as then. Not for this had she passed away in hope and joy to her heritage on high, with her last fond gaze fixed on her blooming child. It was not amid anguish, or chilling disappointment that her young soul paused in its downward course, and pausing, fled. There is no tarrying place in dissipation, we must go with its rapid current, or fly forever from it. She had been guilty of no flagrant breach of moral law, such as leaves the soul in its lowest capability of abasement, or sinks it in the depths of despair, a prey to undying remorse. To the world, she seemed a gay and joyous creature, long after her spirit had recoiled from the excess of that pleasure once so eagerly pursued. They who regarded her as a light passive character, easily moulded by circumstances, and incapable of judging for itself, little suspected the inner strife that was soon to break out into open rebellion against pur- suits that could so poorly satisfy a character, formed to adorn the most elevated walks of life. She felt in all its bitterness the mortifying conviction of degradation, and perverted tastes, the rash choice of friends, so unworthy that honorable title, and evincing such a want of refinement, and purity of mind. How often in the very height of her infatuation, had she been startled by their coarseness, or shocked by their looseness of principle and vacuity of mind. In vain she sought an excuse for her folly, to soften the anguish of an upbraiding conscience, and misused powers. She knew they were her own choice. No unfortunate train of events had linked her to abject associates ; no blinding of judgment by specious appearances, but a will- ing open surrender to evil example, that now mantled her cheek with shame, and filled her heart with disgust. The reaction of highly strung feelings, and generous, elevated instincts, is fearful to the possessor, but salutary, and gene- SHADOWS OF THE PAST. 61 rally permanent. After the first overwhelming burst of feeling, by divine grace, with a strength of purpose natural to her, and augmented by sincere regret for former weak- ness, she threw off the fetters that had so long bound her, and stood before the surprised world an altered being. The sneers of her rejected associates failed to move her, she had despised them when of them, and pitied, now that she knew them no longer. It was long before she could overcome the inward effects of past folly. The guests she had taken as friends to her bosom were not as easily thrown aside as the evil associates of earlier days. It was not easy to surmount the languor of mental disease, or to restore the tone of an abused intellect. The buoyancy, the purity, the freshness of an unperverted heart was lost to her forever, while the dew of youth still moistened her brow. She had cast the gem of her life into the whirlpool of frivolity, and looked in vain upon its rapid waters for the return of the too tardily prized gift. Her's was no uncommon loss. Ask of all who have escaped from the snare of sin, what has been their saddest reflection on the past, and they will an_- swer, " That they have given the freshness, the first-fruits of their heart to sin, and laid it jaded, and stained, at the feet of the Savior. It was such knowledge that saddened the efforts of the repentant girl, to restore to her spirit some- thing of its natural beauty and vigor. If she had sinned less than others, she was more guilty than some. When she compared her past habits with those of her associates, she felt elated with her superior innocence, but when in com- pany with her new friends, many of whom had walked hum- bly and confidingly in the footsteps of good parents, from youth to age, she retired to her closet oppressed with the consciousness of her inferiority, heightened by the thought, that she had had equal advantages, similar counsel, and pa- rents, early lost, but not until their example had left its brightness on the path she had so readily forsaken. There was but one resting place for her troubled spirit, perfect submission to the chastisement of broken laws. It was with 62 SHADOWS OF THE PAST. the mind, as with her body, the latter had been shattered by an unnatural course of life, and only through obedience to its natural cravings could she hope for its restoration to health. Her mind had been deprived of its proper aliment, and fed to emaciation on poisonous husks, and retaliated its injuries by a long train of evils, only to be subdued by pa- tience and a restitution of its rights. Thus has God wisely ordered that the erring should be punished with their own weapons, and be led to acknowledge Him more merciful to them, than they had been to themselves. With this belief, none need despair of attaining rest from the effects of past follies, although their sting may long endure. " Every heart knows its own bitterness." Often would this adage recur to her who had tested it so thoroughly. Even in her better life, she felt its truth. To all around her, she seemed so happy in her well regulated home, and in her useful, gentle duties, that few could refrain from speaking of her enviable position. At such seasons she most forcibly felt that she alone knew of the bitterness of a heart dar- kened by shadows of the past, and sustained only by the consciousness of doing all in her power to counteract the effects of her disobedience. The more thoroughly redeem- ed the heart, the keener is its remembrance of its fallen state. Perhaps it was peculiarly fortunate that she was thus led from all earthly supports, to lean humbly on the only true One. The heart is so treacherous, as to be sorely tempted even in the hour of repentance. Although the allurements of pleasure and fashion had lost their power over her, in a station so elevated as hers, there are always a host of semi-demons ready to assail a yielding heart. A life all sunshine outwardly and inwardly, is not favorable to true piety, which alone should give radiance and beauty to existence. Thus the shadows that flitted over her spirit subdued all feelings of self-righteousness, that most odious of errors, by constantly reminding it of its weakness, and liability to fall, and filled with resignation a heart conscious of deserving reproof and chastisement. THE ROSE. 63 If at times her brow was slightly shaded, and her eye beamed less brightly, it was not that she repined at her des- tiny, but it was the thoughtful pause of her spirit in its every day career, to gaze up anew at the ray of grace, streaming through the benign, Shadows of the Past. THE ROSE. See Colored Engraving. THIS beautiful flower and universal favorite, although each poet has made it the theme of his song, has never yet been described in language adequate to convey a full idea of its charms. It has been denominated the daughter of Heaven, the ornament of Earth, and the glory of the Spring. When it opens its delicate buds, the eye surveys its harmonious outlines with delight. But who can describe the delicate tints of its enchanting colors, or the swejet perfume which it exhales ? Behold the queen of flowers in the Spring, raising itself softly in the midst of its elegant foliage, surrounded by its numerous buds ; .she seems to sport with the air that fans her, to deck hersetf with the dew drops that impearl her, and smile under the reflection of those rays which cause the ex- pansion of her form. In producing the pride of Flora, nature seems to have exhausted all her stores of sweetness and beauty. The Rose is found every where ; the most beautiful is the most common of flowers. It dies when it attains to the perfection of its beauty ; but the returning season restores it to us lovely as ever. It is the emblem of all ages the orna- ment of beauty the image of youth, innocence and pleasure. The Rose is the most beautiful piece of divine workman- ship which adorns our garden. Under the similitude of the Rose, the surpassing beauty and loveliness of the Saviour is set forth. " I am the Rose of Sharon." 64 THE LILAC. BOTANICAL. THE LILAC. See Colored Engraring. THIS is an ornamental deciduous shrub, bearing a bluish flower in May. Leaves ovate, cordate ; branches, stiff, white-colored. It belongs to the natural order Oleina. Art. class, Diandria ; order, Monogynia. Nothing is more delightful, than the sensations produced by the first appearance of the Lilac on the return of Spring. Who that does not admire the freshness of its verdure, the pliancy of its tender branches, the abundance of its flowers, their beauty, though brief and transient, their delicate and varied colors ! Nature seems to have aimed to have formed large bunches of the Lilac, every part of which should astonish by its delicacy and variety. Albano was unable to blend upon his palette colors sufficiently soft and delicate to give a true idea of the Lilac; and Van Spandock threw down his pencil in despair. The gradation of color, from the bud to the almost colorless flowers, is the least charm of these beautiful groupes, around which the light plays and produces a thousand shades, which, all blending together in the same tint, forms that matchless harmony which the painter despairs to imitate. What labor has the Creator bestowed to produce this fragile shrub, which seems only given for the gratification of the senses ! What a union of perfume, of freshness, of grace and of delicacy! What variety in detail ! What beauty as a whole ! Every one must see the beauty and truth of Cowper's description, The Lilac, various in array, now white Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set With purple spikes pyramidal, as if, Studious of ornament, yet unresolved Which hue she most approved, she CHOSE THEM ALL BUNYAN'S CHRISTIANA. 65 Original. BUNYAN'S CHRISTIANA. A MODEL FOR MOTHERS. BY MRS. M. E. DOUBLEDAY. WHILE every page of the progress of the immortal Pilgrim proves Bunyan's deep knowledge of the human heart, and of the operation of the Holy Spirit in renewing the soul, he never displays greater discrimination, than in those slight touches which mark the difference between the characters and the piety of his Christian and his Christiana The father and the mother Man in his strength and HELPLESS- NESS Woman in her weakness and her power. There are characteristics common to both. They both felt their need of deliverance ; they both exhibit a single- ness of purpose, a steadfastness of resolution, and a willing- ness to forsake all ; but Christian had deeper convictions of sin, greater distress of mind, more powerful temptations to overcome, than were placed in the way of Christiana. His horror and agony were such that he fled for his life, and left his family to perish in the city of Destruction ; the over- powering sentiment absorbed him. He saw and felt all his guilt and all his danger, and he fled as one who felt that the avenger of blood was behind him. The emotions of Christiana were more gentle and tender, and the affections of the woman mingled more with all the experience of the Christian. The tenderness and the devotedness of the mother were as manifest as the steadfast- ness and diligence of the pilgrim. Christian was driven by the fear of coming wrath, to flee from his native place. Love for her husband, led Christiana to follow him ; grief for his loss awakened remorse for her neglect of his entreaties, and repentance for sins against the Holy One. The bur- 66 BUNYAN ? S CHRISTIANA. den of actual transgression might with great propriety be represented as much heavier upon the man exposed to all the temptations and sins of the world, than upon the woman, sheltered and guarded in the seclusion of domestic life. Yet, both needed to enter the wicket gate, and both found com- fort at the Cross. Christian went out alone. Through all the dreariness of early pilgrimage, he was a solitary way- farer, holding only occasional converse with others at the different stations appointed to direct him. Is it not often thus ? Have not we all seen the strong man enter the Christian race, and with a firm step, and steadfast heart, tread his path alone, without either seeking or desiring human aid or sympathy. But as the pilgrim advances the man softens, and the Christian becomes more tender, and social, and loving, more alive to human sympathy, yet not less dependent on divine aid, and before the termination of his journey he gladly joins himself to some Hopeful or Faith- ful, and by the fellowship of the saints below, he learns something of the blessedness of the communion of the saints above. But the AFFECTIONS are always strong in woman, and she can only live in an atmosphere of love and sympathy ; and when Christiana turns her face to the Celestial City, Bunyan gives her a friend, kind, tender and sympathising, to attend her, and he inclines her children to go with her, so that in- stead of going out a solitary wayfarer, she leadeth forth her children like a flock, and they enter a little band upon their pilgrimage, and together share the joys and bear the burdens of the way. Bunyan does not represent the father as forgetting his family. He was influenced by a desire to have them with him when he turned aside from THE way, to dwell in the pretty little town of Morality yet HE left them and not one of them followed him. Not one thought of leaving her children, seems to have entered the mind of Christiana. What a mother, in earnest for the salvation of her own soul, yet consent to leave her children to perish in the city of BUNYAN'S CHRISTIANA. 67 Destruction ? Not so does the author of the Pilgrim's progress represent woman. He knew too well the value and the power of woman's love and woman's faithfulness. When Christiana resolved to flee from her native city, she prepared to take her children with her. Her first question to the messenger was, " Sir, will you carry me and my chil- dren with you that we may go and worship the King ?" And beautifully and naturally is she represented as drawing her children around her, as a penitent confessing her own transgressions ; and with a mother's love and a mother's faithfulness, warning them of their danger, and entreating them to join her and follow their Father. And gladly did they comply with her entreaties and listen to the Heavenly visitor. Happy for them and for their mother that Christi- ana thus resolved before her children had left her side. Had they established themselves in the city of Destruction, and taken to themselves daughters of the land for wives, difficult if not impossible, had she found it to induce them to go with her to seek another, even a Heavenly country. Is not this a beautiful picture and is it not true to life ? Has not God for wise and gracious purposes, endowed woman with these deep and strong affections, and ordained that her influence shall arise from them. By simulating vicious women often, bend the strong and the mighty, and lead them captive at their will, but in a virtuous woman they are ever in constant exercise, and they are the source and spring of her influence on all around, and many a strong will and proud heart which would resist all other influence, has yielded to the power of maternal love, and listened to the invitations of Heaven when they have been repeated by a mother's lips. In all the ensuing pilgrimage, the characters of the mother and the Christian are beautifully blended. There is a sweet mingling of Christian humility and maternal faithfulness, of maternal love and authority. Indeed, we judge that the authority of the parent, had boon well established even before the ud her children turned their faces towards the 68 BUNYAN'S CHRISTIANA. Celestial City ; yet Christiana still knew the need of constant care, and of a mother's oversight ; and although the whole party were provided with a guide, she never remitted her vigilance. She never started on her race and left her children, or sending them ahead slowly followed. Side by side they still pursued their path, and although the children of Christiana were sons, they were ever near and with their mother, and she was the guide and companion of their way. Is there not encouragement and instruction for all mother's here ? Has Bunyan overrated and exaggerated the influence of a mother ? Has he ascribed more to his Christiana than is usually possessed by the devoted and pious mother ? We will not willingly think it. All mothers may not exert the influence they possess. Not all are aware of the power entrusted to them. Had not Christiana herself, repeated and enforced by argument and entreaty the message of the celestial visitant, she had hardly seen her children the companions of her pilgrimage. And the mother who does not labor and pray for the conversion of her children, can hardly hope to witness it ; for while it is true that God alone changes the heart, we know, too, that he employs human instrumentality, and to the mother is en- trusted an influence equal to the responsibility imposed upon her. In her daily converse with her children, they imbibe her tastes and principles, and she forms their habits and moulds their characters, and stamps her own impress upon their souls ; and it seems hardly possible that a mother whose own heart is full of the peace and love and holiness of Heaven, should train a godless depraved family, unless she allows other occupations to separate her from her children, and other influences to rest upon their heart. There may be mothers, how unlike Christiana, who do not attempt to induce their children to join them in their pil- grimage. Perhaps they deem them too young. It would be so trying to watch over them all the way. Perhaps the family have possessions in the city of Destruction, which the THE INSTRUCTIVE DREAMER. 69 parents wish the children to enjoy, though they themselves forsake them. Many a mother rather hopes that at some indefinite future her children will follow her, than desires that they may accompany her. And while the Christiana of Bunyan grieved that her children should pluck the fruit of the enemy which overhung the wall, many a modern Christiana seems to consider it as a thing allowable, that during the days of youth her children should recreate them- selves in the pleasure grounds of the great destroyer. THE INSTRUCTIVE DREAMER. IN connection with the foregoing article, designed to illus- trate some of the beauties of Bunyan's immortal work, the Pilgrim's Progress, we cannot but express our desire that this Guide to the Christian Pilgrim, may be more thoroughly studied and more widely circulated throughout our land. It is the most beautiful and instructive allegory in our language : we are of opinion moreover, that it is the best uninspired interpreter of the mind and will of God respect- ing the conduct and course of him who has entered upon the Christian life ; in this respect, it is a most important auxi- liary to the Bible, and should accompany it wherever it goes. Not that the Bible is not a safe and infallible guide, nor that it needs human authority to give weight to its doc- trines, or add force to its decisions and sanctions ; only so far as the interpretations of men serve to illustrate its truths and make them stand out, as it were, with greater prominence are they to be viewed in the light of humble auxiliaries. In these respects, probably no uninspired man has given greater evidence of being taught immediately of God, than the pious author of the Pilgrim's Progress. It is known to the public, that we have published the Pil- grim's Progress in numbers in a cheap and elegant form, embellished with thirty steel and colored engravings, and 70 THE INSTRUCTIVE DREAMER. illustrated with five hundred luminous explanatory notes, mostly by Mason, a man well calculated by his eminent piety and learning for this delicate and difficult work. Some idea may be formed of the great demand for, and rapid sale of this work, when the reader is informed that, in less than two years it has passed through twelve editions of one thousand copies each. And yet what has been done to supply the people of this land, with this invaluable work, is but a drop in the bucket. Our object has been, if possible, to put the Pilgrim's Progress within the reach of all who may desire it. Knowing the tried and sterling value of the work, as a guide both to the Christian and the impenitent sinner, we have been anxious to scatter it broadcast over the land, and deposit it in every family of our nation. Our Pilgrim's Progress was designed as a premium for the subscribers of the Family Circle. In this way a large number of the work have found their way into families which might otherwise have remained destitute of it. Thus we have accomplished the two-fold object, of promoting the circulation of our Family Circle, and also the wider dif- fusion of the Pilgrim's Progress. The inducement pre- sented to the public, by the offer of our beautiful premium, to subscribe for our Magazine or to continue their subscrip- tions, will have lost none of its force when they see what great improvements we are making in the Magazine. If an individual or family may have a copy of the Pilgrim's Pro- gress, free of cost, by aiding the circulation of the Family Circle, we can hardly think they will make light of the prof- fered boon and lose the benefit of both. We are confident the lovers of sound knowledge and evangelical religion, will not content themselves without the monthly visits of such a work as our Periodical ; nor will they be willing to be with- out the light which the Spirit of God kindled up in Bedford Jail to illuminate the path of Christian from the moment of his leaving the city of Destruction to his arrival at the heavenly Jerusalem. EDS. EPITAPHS. 71 EPITAPHS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. CHAUCER'S. Death is the repose of the weary. ON JOHN SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. "1 lived doubtful, not dissolute I die unresolved, not unresigned. Ignorance and error Are incident to human nature ; I trust in Almighty and All-Good God ; ! thou Being of beings, have compassion on me." ON GRACE, WIFE OF COL. THOMAS SCOTT. He that will give my Grace but what is hers, must say that her death hath not only made her dear Scott, but virtue, worth and sweetness, Widowers." IN CHISWICK CHURCHYARD. HOGARTH'S. Farewell, great painter of mankind ! Who reach'd the noblest point of art Whose pictur'd morals charm the mind And through the eye correct the heart. If genius fire thee, Reader, stay ; If nature move thee, drop a tear ; If neither move thee, turn away, For Hogarth's honor'd dust lies here. BY GARRICK. \s-*r THE WAGES OF SIN. THE wages that sin bargains for with the sinner are. lite. pleasure, and profit ; but the wages it pays him with are, death, torment and destruction. He that would understand the falsehood and deceit of sin, must compare its promises and its payments together. 72 SENTIMENTS AND SIMIHES. SENTIMENTS AND SIMILIES. VIRTUE is the only true support of pleasure, which, when disjoined from it, is like a plant when its fibres are cut, which may still look gay and lovely for awhile, but soon decays and perishes. OPPRESSION AND GENTLENESS. THE human heart rises against oppression and is soothed by gentleness, as the wave of the ocean rises in proportion to the violence of the winds and sinks with the breeze into mildness and serenity. PASSION AT WAR WITH REASON. THE region of passion is a land of despotism, where rea- son exercises but a mock jurisdiction ; and is continually forced to submit to an arbitrary tyrant, who rejecting her fixed and temperate laws, is guided only by the dangerous impulse of his own violent and uncontrolable wishes. AVARICE. AVARICE is a passion as despicable as it is hateful. It chooses the most insiduous means for the attainment of its ends ; it dares not pursue its means with the bold impetuosity of the soaring eagle, but skims the ground in narrow circles, like a swallow. AN OLD MAN. THE contemplation of a venerable old man sinking gently into the arms of death, supported by filial affection and ani- mated by religious hope, excites a serious yet not unpleasing sensation. When the gay and busy scenes of life are past, and the years advance which have no pleasure in them, what is left for age to wish, but that its infirmities may be soothed by watchful solicitude of tenderness, and its dark- ness cheered by a ray of that love " which cometh from above ! " To such persons, life even in its last stage, is still agreeable. SIN AND FOLLY OF FRETTING. 73 SIN AND FOLLY OF FRETTING. THE religion of Jesus Christ has for its GREAT object the eternal happiness of man. It is, however, practically in- fluential in the production of true, although IMPERFECT, happiness even in the present world. In too many cases, we confess, the religious spirit is tempered with much of the in- firmity and sinfulness of our fallen humanity. It can seldom be affirmed of our charity that it " is not easily provoked." The mind even of the Christian is frequently fretted by the repetition of small troubles and vexations. Such being the case, it is important to consider the character and effects of fretfulness : IT is A SIN AGAINST GOD. It is evil and only evil, and that continually. David understood both human nature and the law of God. He says, " Fret not thyself in anywise to do evil." That is, never fret or scold, for it is always a sin. If you cannot speak without fretting and scolding, keep silence. IT DESTROYS AFFECTION. No one ever did, ever can, or ever will love an habitual fretter, fault-finder, or scolder. Husbands, wives, children, relatives and domestics, have no affection for your peevish, fretful fault-finder. Few tears are shed over the graves of such. Persons of high moral prin- ciple may tolerate them may bear with them but they cannot love them any more than they can love the sting of nettles, or the noise of mosquitoes. Many a man has been driven to the tavern, and to dissipation, by a peevish, fretful wife. Many a wife has been made miserable by a peevish, fretful husband. A complaining fault-finder in a family is like the continual chafing of an inflamed sore. Woe to the man, woman, or child, who is exposed to the influence of such a temper in another ! Nine-tenths of all domestic trials and unhappiness spring from this source. IT DEFEATS THE END OF FAMILY GOVERNMENT. Good family government is the blending authority with affection, so as to secure respect and love. Indeed, this is the grand secret 74 SIN AND FOLLY OF FRETTING. of managing young persons. Now, your fretters may inspire fear, but they always make two faults where they correct one. Scolding a child, fretting at a child, sneering at a child, taunt- ing a child, treating a child as though it had no feelings, inspires dread and dislike, and fosters those very dispositions from which many of the worst faults of childhood proceed. IT MAKES HYPOCRITES. As a frctter never receives con- fidence and affection, so no one likes to tell them any thing disagreeable, and thus procure for themselves a fretting. How children always conceal as much as they can from such persons. They cannot make up their minds to be frank and open-hearted. So husbands conceal from their wives, and wives from their husbands. For a man may brave a lion, but who likes to come in contact with nettles and mosquitoes? IT DESTROYS ONE'S PEACE OF MIND. The more one frets the more one may. A fretter will always have enough to fret at ; specially if he or she has the bump of order and neatness largely developed. Something will always be out of place. There will always be something wrong some- where. Others will not eat right, look right, sit. right, talk right, act right ; i. e. will not do these things so as to please them. And fretters are generally so selfish as to have no re- gard to any one's comfort but their own. IT IS A MARK OF A VULGAR, SELFISH DISPOSITION. Some persons have so much gall in their dispositions, are so selfish, that they seem to have no regard to the feelings of others. All things must be done to please them. They make their husbands, wives, children, domestics, the conductors by which their spleen and ill-nature are discharged. Woe to the chil- dren who are exposed to such influences ! It makes them callous and unfeeling, and when they grow up they pursue the same course with their own children, or those entrusted to their management, and thus the race of fretters is perpetua- ted. Any person who is in the habit of fretting, sneering, or taunting a husband, wife, child, or domestic, shews either a bad disposition, or else ill-breeding. For it is generally your ignorant, low-bred people that are guilty of such things. HINTS TO ALL. 75 HINTS TO ALL. BY MRS. L. G. ABELL. FORGIVENESS. A more glorious victory cannot be gained over another than this, that when the injury began on his part, the kindness begins on ours. TALENTS. Dig them up bring them to the light turn them over, polish them, and they will give light to the world. You know not what you are capable of doing ; you cannot sound the ocean of thought within you. You must labor, keep at it, and dig deep and long before you will begin to realize much. Be in-active mourn because you were not created a giant in intellect, and you will die a fool. THE YOUTHFUL MIND. A straw will make an impression on the virgin snow, but after a time a horse's hoof cannot penetrate it ; so it is with the youthful mind. A trifling word may make an impression, but after a few years the most powerful appeals may cease to influence it. Think of this ye who have the training of the infant mind, and leave such impressions thereon as will be safe to carry amid the follies and temptations of the world. TIME. God who is liberal in all other gifts, shows us, by his own wise economy, how circumspect we should be in the management of our time, for he never gives us two mo- ments together. He only gives us the second when he takes away the first, and keeps the third in his own hands, leav- ing us in absolute uncertainty whether it shall ever become ours or not ! REPROOF. Never reprove any one when they are angry. But go in the cool of reason, and passion , when all is quiet within, for then you have the greatest probability of success. LITTLE THINGS NO TRIFLES. The nerve of a tooth, not as large as the finest cambric needle, will sometimes drivp> a strong man to distraction. A musqueto can make an ele phant absolutely nrid. The coral rock which causes a navy 76 HINTS TO ALL. to founder, is the work of an insect. The warrior that with- stood death in a thousand forms, may be killed by an insect. The deepest wretchedness often results from a perpetual continuation of petty trials. The formation of character often depends on circumstances apparently the most trivial, an impulse, a casual conversation, a chance visit, or some- things equally unimportant, has changed the whole destiny of life, and has resulted in virtue or vice in weal or in woe ! How TO MAKE HOME HAPPY. It is not the imposing ma- jesty of a sumptuous mansion, nor the hollow glare of gaudy furniture, nor the obsequious attention of servants, that make the blessedness of home. No ; it is the steady exercise of those holy charities, that soothes our sorrows, and that builds the nest of peace, love, and true enjoyment in our bosoms. It is mutual respect and attention, a kind consideration of each others feelings, under all circumstances a sympathy in our cares, a regard to our interests, the exercise of a pa- tient and forbearing, and forgiving temper, that makes home the " only Paradise that has survived the fall." And let it never be forgotten, that even a smile or a frown may gild with brightness, or overcast with clouds, the whole horizon of that sacred spot HOME. AN UNSUBDUED TEMPER. Beware of that being, who in- dulges in an uncontroled temper, if you desire peace and happiness. Many a lofty mind and noble genius, has by its influence become the bane of friendship, the curse of home, and the dread of society. It destroys the peace of families, poisons the fountains of happiness, and dries up the source of every pleasure. Beauty, wit, wealth, talents, fame and honor, can never be a substitute. This one gem outweighs them all, an AMIABLE TEMPER. THE VALUE OF TIME. " I shall only be idle a minute." A minute ! in this time many a noble action has been perform- ed. A minute ! when resolutions have been made that have changed the after current of life. A minute ! in the space which a tear reached the eye of the repentant prodigal. DESCRIPTION OF THE LAST SUPPER. JESUS CHRIST, the victim and priest of the great sacrifice, is seated at the centre of the table, where, his resplendent majesty, shines out ^nong the Apostles, having declared the presence of the traitor. " And, as they did eat, he said, Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me. And they were exceeding sorrowful, and began every one of them to say unto him, Lord, is it I ?" He has his eyes cast down as though they would shun the meeting with those of the betrayer. Behold depicted on his countenance such holy devotion, such grief, such great- ness of soul, and so many other noble qualities, as the spec- tator may indeed discover, but no pen can describe. Behind the figure of Christ you see the luminous sky, and all pre- eminence is given to that divine head which Leonardo, though satisfied with himself, still declared to be imperfect. 1. Sweetness and purity are expressed in the downcast eyes of the beloved disciple, John, who is nearest to the Lord ;absorb'din the deepest sorrow, his head drooping on his shoulder, his arms relaxed, his crossed hands laid on the table, and the whole figure abandoned to grief. 2. The traitor, Judas, sits between John and Peter, lean- ing on the table with his right arm, and grasping the neck of the money bag in his hand. 3. Peter is seen full of ardor, and more agitated than the other Apostles ; with his left hand he touches the shoulder of John, speaking at the same time in his ear, as if denoun- cing the traitor, and in his right holding a knife. 4. Andrew, the brother of Peter, has a dish of fish before VOL. VI. NO. 3. 82 THE LAST SUPPER. him, denoting he is a fisherman ; his hands are upraised and spread out, and his countenance expresses surprise and astonishment. 5. Next is seen James, the Greater, who resembles the Saviour, being also a Nazarene. He also appears to be amazed, and is touching the arm of Peter, as in the act of addressing him. 6. Philip i r nobly dressed in the Roman costume ; he appears to oe doubtful of having understood aright the say- ing of me Master, from being situated at the extreme end of the table, both hands are placed on the table, as he rises up, and, seems earnestly desirous to know who is the traitor. 7. The first on the left of the Saviour is Thomas, who exhibits much astonishment, and, by his sarcastic smile, seems to doubt the truth of what has just been said by the Divine Master. 8. Jude appears agitated with affliction ; with the most fervent action, his forefinger is raised upwards, and his countenance expresses the words of the Evangelist, " Lord, is it I ?" 9. Simon appears under great excitement ; he seems anxious to justify himself with the Master, and not to be considered as the traitor ; with both hands he is in the act of opening his vest, as if to demonstrate the innocence of his heart. 10. Matthew, as a publican, a man of the world, he appears to sustain the character of his former calling ; turning to his neighbors, and asking them if they have heard what has been said. 11. Bartholomew. This Apostle has the countenance of a sincere man, and openly shows his indignation while talking with James the Less on the subject of the treachery that has been disclosed. 12. The last is James, the Less, who exhibits the appear- ance of a good old man, and by the movement of his hands, as also by the expression of his face, appears to repeat and confirm the words spoken by the Saviour. PRAYER FOR A DEAR FAMILY. 83 Original. PRAYER FOR A DEAR FAMILY BY MRS. M. ST. LEON LOUD. Blessings oh Father ! shower Rich blessings on this household from on high ; May no dark cloud o'er cast their sunny sky, Nor tempest lower But the sweet Dove of peace, a cherish'd guest, In their home's hallowed ark take up her rest. Oh ! bless them in the ties The holy, tender ties of husband wife- Which Thou hast flung around them ; guard from strife Earth's choicest prize, Domestic love, unsullied by a fear That aught but death can change the fond heart here- Saviour ! Thou who did'st take Young children in thy arms oh ! look on these, Who lisp sweet accents at their parents knees, And ne'er forsake ; But through life's wilderness direct their feet, To the blest fold where all thy lambs shall meet And oh ! bless thou their store, Reward their labors with a bounteous hand, And may their hearts incline to thy command- Think on the poor ; May the blest charity their bosoms warm, Which shields a brother from afflictions storm. Not for the gifts alone Which are of Earth, and pass with time away For those I love with deep desire I pray But from thy throne Bow down thine ear Most Holy ! and bestow, The blessings which from thee alone can flow. 84 WE ARE GROWING OLB. May peace, and heavenly joy That passeth human understanding, fill Their inmost souls, and grateful praises still Their tongues employ ; And aspirations of pure love arise, In clouds of spirit incense to the skies. Yet one more boon I crave, For those ! Oh Father ! whom my soul holds dear ; When thy last solemn messenger draws near, And Jordan's wave, Lies just before them be their stay and guide, Through death's dark vale Thou Bless'd, thou Crucified ! I leave them in thy hand, Most Merciful ! now and forevermore Thy will be done ! and when on Heaven's bright shore With joy we stand, Our ransomed souls shall swell the sacred song, " Glory and honor to the Lamb belong." WE ARE GROWING OLD. BY B. F. ROMAINE. WE are growing old, but our feet may track The path to the upper life, And our thoughts ne'er go with the worldling's back To years of our former strife, For our eye on Heaven's resplendent morn May be fixed with undimmed gaze, 'Till Earth from the spiritual vision is borne, And lost in the ancient of days : There's a youth of the soul that ne'er grows old, However the body decay, That flashes the brighter like purified gold, Its dross all melted away ; 'Tis youth immortal Christ is its source, Its hidden life to unfold ; He gives it- -He keeps it -He follows its course The spirit will ne'er grow old. THE LOST SON. 85 Original. THE LOST SON.* THE DESCENDING SCALE. EDITORIAL. Mr. Mansel seldom corrected his son, for he found that it did no good it only raised a storm and made matters worse. In the course of the day, he spoke to Walter pri- vately, and set forth the fearful enormity of his crime and the fatal consequences to which it might lead. But he was deaf to all he could say. Time wore away, but it brought no change for the better, Mrs. Mansel was gay and frivo- lous as ever the son as reckless. Like his mother before him, Walter showed an early distaste for his books and could not endure the confinement of study. Never having rea- lized the importance of education herself and not feeling her own deficiences, Mrs. Mansel had no fear but that her bril- liant son would happily make his way through the world, and make a very conspicuous figure among men, without worrying his life out of him to accumulate useless lumber. She could not see but that he had thus far, got along as well without study as others had with, and, at any rate, she did not doubt his genius would overcome all obstacles. And truly the boy possessed genius ; but what is genius without mental discipline ? He did indeed overcome a cer- tain kind of obstacles, but they were such as he met in the way of sinful indulgence ; He needed but little education to prepare him for a life of pleasure and crime, such as his mother and his own inclination suggested. Other years rolled away, and now Walter had reached eighteen, the period when the boy begins to put on the airs * Concluded from the 51st page. 86 THE LOST SON. of a man, and feels that he can no longer endure control. He was a bold, dashing blade. He was found less and less in his mother's society, but spent most of his time, in com- pany of associates as unprincipled as himself. The year before he had commenced the career of fashionable amuse- ments, by going to a BALL. This he knew was contrary to his father's wishes and commands. Often he had spoken to him of the danger from this quarter. His next step was the BILLIARD ROOM and the GAMING TABLE, where one evening he lost a large sum which he had abstracted from the drawer of his father's writing desk, by means of a false key. Next, he went to the THEATRE, the high road to perdition ; from thence he passed to * * *. The course he now pursued even excited the fears of his mother ; but still, so infatuated was she, whenever Mr. Mansel ventured to re- prove him, she would apologise for him, by saying, " it was hard indeed if Walter could not enjoy the pleasures of which young men generally partake ; she could not believe he was WORSE than others, nor that he would not be able to TAKE CARE OF HIMSELF." Thus did she tamper with his vices and counteract all the good effect of his father's counsels. At length Walter reached the fourth step of the descend- ing ladder the PENALTY. To furnish himself with the means of indulgence, in concert with some of his associates, he waylaid a gentleman one evening, and robbed him of a considerable amount of money. Long after midnight a noise was heard at the front door and the bell hastily rung. On opening the door Mr. Mansel was accosted by an officer of the police, who inquired whether his son Walter was in, observing at the same time, that they had come to arrest him for a daring robbery. His son was called up, and Mr. Mansel accompanied him to the police office. A part of the money was found on him. The blow was heavy, but not wholly unexpected. Mr. Mansel returned in sorrow to his dwelling, and ere the sun rose, he was seized with a sickness which soon terminated his life and his misery. The fever raged and he sunk rapidly under his accumulated THE LOST SON. 87 woes. When Mrs. Mansel approached his dying bed, he looked up and with solemn emphasis observed, " Madam, THE FOURTH STEP OF THE LADDER IS REACHED the PENALTY !" These were his last words. But dreadful to relate, instead of being stung with remorse, Mrs. Mansel reproached him with being the cause of his son's ruin. " Did I not tell you so ? you taught him the way, and have no one to blame but yourself." She left him, and saw him no more until the spirit had left the body. Owing to the powerful intercession of some of Mr. Man- sel's friends, the affair of Walter was privately settled and hushed up, and this time he escaped the full penalty of the law. The mother and son were now the sole ruling powers of the gloomy mansion. They put on mourning, but shed no tears. Lucy alone sorrowed over her father's grave. After a short season the house was thrown open, and pre- sented a scene of gaity. Mr. Mansel was not rich, but he left enough to maintain his family comfortably, with pru- dence and economy. And now Waiter had full scope. His father was no longer in his way. He became more and more dissipated and profligate. Night after night Mrs. Mansel was left alone. Sometimes Walter would come staggering in at two or three o'clock in the morning. At last her apprehensions began to be seriously awakened, and she ventured for the first time, to rally him for his nocturnal irregularities. But this only provoked a scornful sneer and a contemptuous retort. " What, are YOU going to take up the cudgels ? you did not fear for me while the old man was alive, you need not trouble yourself about me now he is dead ! I can take care of myself." By degrees Mrs. Mansel began to awake from her long dream, to see the dangers which thickened around the path of her son. But now it was TOO LATE. She had " sown to the wind, she must reap the whirlwind." Whatever might come, she saw that .SHE could do nothing to save him. The picture of the descending ladder was ever before her, and her injured husband's last words rung perpetually in her 88 THE LOST SON 1 . ears. " THE FOURTH STEP OF THE LADDER is REACHED !" She lived now daily in the expectation of some new calamity. She became exceedingly nervous. Sleep forsook her pil- low She imagined a thousand things. Conscience no longer whispered, but spake in thunder tones ; a cloud rested upon her suddenly it burst upon her head. While seated alone, one day, the door opened and the servant handed her a note. It was from the Cashier of the Bank, in which her husband had deposited the little all of money he had left her. He informed her, her son had drawn out the whole sum, one thousand dollars. Oh, the tortures of that moment ! Her own, her darling son had robbed her ! She raged like a maniac the fountain of tears was broken up, and she wept BITTERLY and LONG. At one time she would accuse herself then her wicked son. That night Walter did not return nor till late next day, when he was brought home in a state of beastly intoxication, his face bloody, and his clothes torn. Mrs. Mansel passed a night of agony. The moaning of the wind mingled with her son's incoherent ravings ; the broken sentences caught her ear. " A pin a a penny, a p ound ! the money ! the money ! blast you! curse you! undone LOST!" At ten o'clock next day, having recovered somewhat from his drunken fit, Walter came down and rudely said to his mother, " Give me some food ? " Food was put upon the table, and while he ate in silence, Mrs. Mansel with a faulter- ing tougue, inquired, " Walter, my son, what have you done with the thousand dollars you drew from the bank ? " at first he made as though he did not hear her. She re- peated the (question. He then turned and in a somewhat subdued tone, said, " Mother, IT is ALL GONE ! the rascals have got it. It has turned out as Father said, A PIN, A PENNY, A POUND, A PENALTY ! " What could the mother say ? She saw the prediction fulfilled, but NOT ALL ; the rest and the worst, she saw was to come, when he had filled up the measure of his iniquity. For the moment she lost the power of utterance. Then she broke forth ; " O my THE LOST SON. 89 son ! will you not, for my sake, abandon your vile associ- ates and reform your life!" The appeal, alas, was made to a heart, in which long since, every virtuous senti- ment and feeling had become extinct. The young man rose from his seat, and ere he left the room, said, " Mother, Father was right ; but your warnings have come too late. I have descended the ladder, and it remains for me to fulfil my destiny!" He pulled the door hastily after him she saw him no more until she met him at the gallows. In a desperate encounter with the man who won his money, he killed him, was arrested, tried for murder, con- victed and sentenced to an ignominious death. And now behold him on the fatal platform, waiting the moment of execution. That morning he sent for his mother, and now as the moments gloomily passed, he waited her arrival. She came the crowd gave way ; she stands before her son in speechless agony ! She sunk down at his feet and earnestly implored his forgiveness, ere he left the world. Walter's eye flashed with terrible brightness, as for the last time, he fixed them on his terror stricken, wretched mother. Then in a tone of despair, and with a look of fiendish tri- umph, he said, " Woman, there is, there can be no forgive- ness for guilt like yours. You have killed the best of hus- bands and fathers, and RUINED YOUR SON. Remember, ' A PIN, A PENNY, A POUND, A PENALTY, PERDITION!' VOU fil'St taught me to descend the ladder, and now nought but perdi- tion awaits us both!" She fainted the drop fell, and the soul of Walter Mansel was in * * * *. A few weeks passed, and Mrs. Mansel was no more the mother was with the son. Reader, if you are a mother, and neglecting the religious education of your son, and preparing him by your example for a life of pleasure and crime, behold, as in a glass, your own picture in this narrative, and, before it be too late, re- pent and change your course. Too indulgent mother, see where you are leading your son. Let the gay and thought- less wife who is daily counteracting the efforts and prayers 90 THE LOST SON. of a pious husband, think what misery she may entail upon her children and herself, by refusing her kind co-operation in the hallowed work, and let the son who has ventured upon the path of disobedience and crime, here contemplate its end. Let the words never be forgotten. A PIN, A PENNY, A POUND, A PENALTY, PERDITION WHAT DO WE ADMIRE IN WOMAN. "Do you know," says an ingenious writer, "what we must admire in you ? It is not your dress ; we could make a beast fine with trappings. It is not your abilities ; it would not be your abilities, if you had such powers as angels have : for, indeed, what but a fine creature is Gabriel to us ? a fine speculation, more beautiful than the rainbow to look at; but what is it to us ? What we admire, and what we ought to admire, in man, is that collection of fine feelings which make him a human creature, social and useful. Sympathy and fellow feeling, tenderness of heart and pity for the wretched, compassion for your neighbors, and reverence for your God, the melting eye, the soothing tone, the silver features, the ingenious devices, the rapid actions of a soul all penetrated with reason and religion, these are the qualities we admire in you. O, I love the soul that must and will do good, the kind creature that runs to the sick bed, I might rather say bedstead, of a poor neighbor, wipes away the moisture of a fever, smooths the clothes, beats up the pillow, fills the pitcher, sets it within reach, administers only a cup of cold water ; but in the true spirit of a disciple of Christ becomes a fellow worker with Christ in the administration of happi- ness to mankind. Peace be with that good soul ! She also must come in due time into the condition of her neighbor, and then may the Lord strengthen her upon the bed of lan- guishing, and, by some kind hand like her own, make all her bed in her sickness." THE INDIAN LOVEE. 91 Original. THE INDIAN LOVER. A TRUE TALE. BY MRS. L. KINGMAN. 'TWAS a delightful evening in September when I arrived at the little town of A ; the day had been very sultry, and the almost boundless prairies which extended them- selves before me during the day, their beauties either seared by an untimely frost or burnt to blackness by the hunter or Indian for the accommodation of self, had wearied my vision and exhausted my spirits in a manner that I had almost sank into a state of unconsciousness, when aroused by my com- panion to view the picturesque scenery before me. We had now began to descend the bluff of the Mississippi, and although the plain which intervened between the river and its bluff was six miles in its width, the noble river seemed to lie at our feet in all its breadth and beautiful windings ; a little sluice was seen to put out from the river and running along like a truant child, until it had nearly reached the steep we were descending, gently turned its course toward its parent stream and disappeared. The little hamlet lying on the bank of the sluice wore an air of comfort and plenty seldom found in so newly settled a section of our country, the houses were neatly built of brick, the cottages of logs, but so completely enveloped in the vine of the honeysuckle and trumpet-flower, as to puzzle the beholder as to their con- struction, as well as giving them an air of comfort seldom found in the western wilds ; it did indeed seem the work of some fairy hand. The taste of the Atlantic States was con- spicuous in their farms, their houses, and their gardens. On our enquiry, we found as we anticipated, the place princi- pally built and inhabited by New Englanders ; being in 92 THE INDIAN LOVER. search of health as well as happiness, and somewhat fatigued with travelling, I concluded to become an inhabitant of that delightful village for a few weeks. I found its inhabitants a truly happy people ; each eve as the day declined and the breezes sprang up rendering the air inviting, we were wont to assemble at some one of the houses and hear from the first settlers, who in turn told tales of by-gone days, an ad- venture of their early settlement, a love story, a Wolf hunt, or a Panther's visit, our evening entertainment was con- cluded by partaking of a collation of fruit, and of wine, for that was before the good days of Washingtonianism, made from the native grape of the country. A tale given by the eldest of the settlers is indelibly impressed on my memory. " I," said the old gentleman, " fourteen years since, left my beloved New England, and emigrated to this place accom- panied by my four brothers, each having families ; we sought out this spot which now so much interests you. Then was it nought but a vast wilderness, the sound of the woodman's axe had never been heard, and as we presume, the foot of the white man never before pressed the soil ; the Indian was often our visitor, and the Bear and the Panther, who had heretofore roamed undisturbed, would often fre- quent their accustomed walk, and pay us a visit. With a few hours labor we collected logs and erected a camp in which we placed our young families, the forest supplied us with meats of the most delicious kind, and the Indian would bring us corn and pumpkins from the upper settlements. " The Autumn yielded us abundant crops, and the ensuing Winter was spent in much enjoyment. Spring again opened to us in all its beauty, surpassing if possible the former. We commenced building our houses which we now inhabit, our young friends, our children seemed more than ever to enjoy their rambles o'er the gay lawn ; Mary and Eliza in their walks were inseparable ; they were cousins, both at the interesting age of eighteen, both beautiful, or, so our village deemed them, Mary's form was of the most perfect symmetry, tall, erect and commanding, her long tresses of THE INDIAN LOVER. 93 dark brown hair, neatly braided and laid in folds over her brow, contrasting with its snowy whiteness, adding much to the beauty of her face. Eliza was much smaller than Mary, and was considered more beautiful ; she was an only daugh- ter and had been reared with much tenderness ; an air of modest diffidence spread over her features, which rendered her an object of interest to every beholder. As we were engaged about our houses one day, we were alarmed by seeing the young ladies running toward us followed by an Jndian. We immediately ran to meet them, when the Indian prostrated himself at our feet begging us to give him Mary to be his squaw. He stated, that he was a chief, or rather the son of a chief, was big-man, owned dogs, coon- skins, and all the et cetera of an Indian wigwam ; he per- ceived his entreaties to be unavailing, and left us. When the girls related their encounter with him, it appeared they had gone into an adjacent prairie to gather strawberries, and feeling in a frolicksome mood, they had displaced their combs, letting their long hair fall over their shoulders, and in imitation of the Indian, painted their faces with the berries they had gathered ; in this situation, they sought the bank of the river, and unexpectedly came upon an encampment of Indians. Eliza's natural fearfulness of character made her immediately shrink from the gaze of the savage ; she retired, but Mary stood fixed in astonishment, seemingly, without power to move until the young chief, before men- tioned, had gradually stolen nearer and nearer to her, when he severed from her head one of the long braids, at the same time entreating her to become his squaw. Aroused to a sense of her perilous situation, she uttered one loud shriek and fled ; the Indian followed, exclaiming, " pretty squaw, white squaw, pretty hair ; she flew with the swiftness of a Rein-deer, her remaining tresses floating on the breeze. She soon gained her cousin who had nearly reached home ; for many days did this young chief visit this settlement, pleading in all the earnestness and artlessness of his native character for the beauteous Mary to become his bride. 94 THE INDIAN LOVER. The tribe at length left our shores, but each successive Spring for five years brought the Indian lover bearing some little present to his beloved, and each time more earnestly pressing his suit ; although not congenial with her feelings, yet through fear, Mary was obliged to accept his pre- sents and listen to his solicitation ; he believed the only obstacle to their union, was her dislike to leave her parents and her cousin Eliza. Spring again returned but brought not the Indian suitor, it was the Spring of 32 ; the tribe to which he belonged had declared war against the whites, several bloody skirmishes had ensued, the most remarkable of which was the second battle of bad axe ; the Indians were driven from the scene of action with much loss. Some of our neigbors, while in the act of interring the dead, recog- nized the well known features of Mary's lover, his long black glossy hair was tied on the top of his head, and unlike the rest of his tribe was un-ornamented, save with the long braid he had years before severed from the head of his Mary. Mary is still with us, and often boasts of having an offer, although not married, and that too, from one of the royal family, the son and heir of king BLACK HAWK. THE HEART. THE heart is a soil in which every ill weed will take root and spread itself. The thorns of worldly care, and the thistles of worldly vanity, will grow and flourish. As the husbandman watches his land, so should the Christian search and examine his heart, that he may cast out of it all those unprofitable weeds and roots of bitterness which will natu- rally get possession of it. If this work is rightly performed, the soil will be ready for the good seed of the word of God, which will spring up and prosper under the influence of di- vine grace, as the corn groweth by a blessing of rain and sunshine from the Heaven above. THE EVIL HO I, LOW. AN INCIDENT OV REAL LIFB IN the town of Catskili, on the Hudson river, there Gwelt, some twenty years ago, an attorney of the name of Mason. He was in considerable practice, and had two clerks in his office, whose names were Mansell and Van Buren. In point of ability these young men were nearly on a par, but they differed widely in disposition. Van Buren was cold, close, and somewhat sullen in temper ; but in busi- ness shrewd, active, and persevering. Mansell, although assiduous in his duties, was of a gayer temperament ; open as the day, generous, confiding, and free. Mason, without being absolutely dishonest, was what is called a keen lawyer, his practice being somewhat of the sharpest ; and as the disposition of his elder clerk, Van Buren, assimilated, in many respects, to his own, he was a great favorite more intimately in his confidence, and usually employed in those delicate matters which sometimes occur in an attorney's business, and in which the straight- forward honesty of Mansell might rather hinder than help. Mason had a niece who, he being a bachelor, lived with him in the capacity of housekeeper. She was a lively, sensitive, and clever girl very pretty, if not positively handsome. She had the grace of a sylph, and the step of a fawn. It was quite natural that such a maiden should be an object of interest to two young men living under the same roof and by no means a matter of astonishment that one or both of them should fall in love with her ; and both of them did. But, as the young lady had but one heart, she could not return the love of each. It is scarcely necessary to say that, in making her election, the choice fell upon Edward Mansell, greatly to the chagrin of his rival, and to the annoyance of Mason, who would have been better pleased to have found Van Buren the favored suiter. How- 96 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. ever, Mansell was the chosen lover, and Mason could not alter the case by argument ; nor was he disposed to send away his niece, who was, in some measure, essential to his domestic comfort and, more- over, he loved her as much as he could love anything. Matters went on in this way for some time ; a great deal of bitterness and rancor being displayed by Mason and Van Buren on the one hand ; while Kate and Edward Mansell found, in the interviews they occa- sionally enjoyed, more than compensation for the annoyance to which they were necessarily exposed. It happened, at the time when Edward's engagement was within a month of its expiration, that Mason had received a sum of money, as agent for another party, amounting to nearly three thousand dollars, of which the greater portion was in gold coin. As the money could not conveniently be disposed of until the following day, it was de- posited in a tin box in the iron safe, the key of which was always in the custody of Mansell. Soon after he received the charge, Van Buren quitted the office for a short time, and in the interim an appli- cation from a client rendered it necessary for Mansell to go up to the courthouse. Having despatched his business at the hall, he returned with all expedition, and in due time he took the key of the safe from his drawer to deposite therein as usual the valuable papers of the office over night when, to his inconceivable horror, he discovered that the treasure was gone ! He rushed down stairs, and meeting Van Buren, communicated the unfortunate circumstance. He in turn expressed his astonish- ment in strong terms, and, indeed, exhibited something like sympathy in his brother clerk's misfortune. Every search was made about the premises, and information given to the nearest magistrate ; but, as Mason was from home, and would not return until the next day, little else could be done. Edward passed a night of intense agony nor were the feelings of Kate more enviable. Mason returned some hours earlier than was expected, sent immediately for Van Buren, and was closeted with him for a long time. Mansell, utterly incapacitated by the overwhelming calamity which had befallen him, from attending to his duties, was walking, ignorant of Mason's return, when Kate came, or rather flew toward him, and exclaimed, " Oh, Edward, my uncle has applied for a warrant to ap- C A M E L I A A N E M N E F L I A THE EVEL HOLLOW. 97 prebend you ; and, innocent though I know you to be, that fiend in human form, Van Buren, has wound such a web around you that 1 dread the worst. I have not time to explain ; fly instantly, and meet me, at nightfall, in the Evil Hollow, when I will tell you all." Mansell, scarcely knowing what he did, rushed out of the garden, and through some fields ; nor did he stop until he found himself out of sight of the town, on the banks of the river. Then, for the first time, he repented of having listened to the well-meant but unwise counsel of his dear Kate. But the step was taken, and he could not retrace it now. He proceeded until he arrived at a thick grove, in the neighborhood of the Evil Hollow, where he lay hid, until night closed upon him. He then approached a dark opening in which was a deep hollow, which had acquired a celebrity from its having been the scene of a murder some years before, and hence was an object of such super- stitious awe to the farmers of the vicinity, that he was considered a bold man who would venture there after nightfall. This, doubtless, had influenced Kate in her choice of such a place for their meeting, inasmuch as they would be secure from interruption. Mansell returned and still lingered on the skirt of the grove, until the sound of a light footstep on the gravelled path which led to the place, announced the approach of the loved being whom he felt he was about to meet for the last time. The poor girl could not speak a word when they met, but, bowing her head upon his shoulder, burst into a flood of passionate tears. By degrees she became more calm, and then detailed to him a conversation that she had overheard be- tween Van Buren and her uncle ; and gathered thence that the for- mer had succeeded in convincing Mason of Edward's guilt, by an artful combination of facts, which would have made out a prima facie case against the accused the most formidable one being the finding of a considerable sum, in specie, in Mansell's trunk. Knowing that he could not satisfactorily account for the possession of this money, without the evidence of a near relative who had departed for Europe a week before, and whose address was unknown, and return uncer- tain, Edward, to avoid the horror and disgrace of lying in the county prison in the intermediate time, resolved on evading the officers of 98 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. justice, until he could surrender himself, with the proofs of his inno- cence in his hands. The moon had now risen above the hill which bounded the pros- pect, and warned the heart-broken lovers that it was time to separate. " And now," said he, " dearest, I leave you, with the brand of ' thief upon my fair name, to be hunted like a beast of prey, from one hiding- place to another. But, oh, my Kate ! I bear with me the blessed as- surance rfiat there is one being and that being the best-beloved of my heart who knows me to be innocent; and that thought shall comfort me." " A remarkably pretty speech, and well delivered !" exclaimed a voice, which caused the youthful pair to start, and turn their eyes in the direction whence it proceeded, when, from behind a decayed and solitary tree that grew in the Hollow, a tall figure, wrapped in an ample cloak, advanced toward them. The place, as we have already noticed, had an evil reputation ; and, although Edward and his com- panion were, of course, free from the superstitious fears which char- acterized the country people, an undefinable feeling stole over them, as they gazed upon the tall form before them. Mansell, however, soon recovered himself, and told the strangei that, whoever he was, it ill became him to overhear conversation which was not intended for other ears than their own. " Nay," was the rejoinder, " be not angry with me ; perhaps you may have reason to rejoice in my presence, since, being in posses- sion of the story of your grief, it may be in my power to alleviate it. I have assisted men in greater straits." Edward did not like the last sentence, nor the tone in which it was uttered ; but he said, " I see not how you can help me ; you can not give me a clue by which to find the box." " Yes, here is a clue !" replied the other, as he held forth about three yards of strong cord, " here is a line ; go to the river at a point exactly opposite the old hollow oak ; wade out in a straight line until you find the box ; attach one end of the cord to the box and the other to a stout cork but remove it not yet." Mansell, whether he really believed himself to be in the presence; of the Evil One, or that the word was merely expressive of surprise we know not, exclaimed, " The Evil One !" THE EVIL HOLLOW. 99 The stranger took the compliment, and acknowledging it with a bow, said, " The tin box which you have been accused of stealing, is at the bottom of the river, and you will find that I have said no more than the truth." Mansell hesitated no longer, but accompanied the stranger to the spot, and in a few minutes, the box, sealed as when he last saw it, was again in his possession. He looked from the treasure to the stranger, and at last said, " I owe you more than life ; for, in regain- ing this, I shall recover my good name, which has been foully tra- duced." He was proceeding toward the shore, when the other cried : " Stop, young gentleman ! not quite so fast ; just fasten your cord to it, and replace it where you found it, if you please." Edward stared, but the stranger continued : " Were you to take that box back to your employer, think you that you would produce any other con- viction on him than that, finding your delinquency discovered, you wished to secure impunity, by restoring the property ? We must not only restore the treasure, but convict the thief. Hush ! I hear a footfall." As he spoke, he took the box from Edward, who now saw his meaning, fastened the cord to it, arid it was again lowered to the bottom of the river, and the cork on the other end of the cord was swinging down with the tide. " Now, follow me in silence," whis- pered the stranger, and the three retired and hid themselves behind the huge trunk of the tree, whence, by the light of the moon, they beheld a figure approach the water, looking cautiously around him. " That is the thief," said the stranger, in a low voice, in Edward's ear. " I saw him, last night, throw something into the river, and, when he was gone, I took the liberty of raising it up ; when, expect- ing that he would return and remove his booty, I replaced it, and had been unsuccessfully watching the place just before I met you in the Hollow." By this time the man had reached the river's brink, and, after groping for some time through the water, he found the box, but started back in astonishment on seeing a long cord attached to it. His back was turned from the witnesses of the transaction, so that Ed- ward and the stranger had got him securely by the collar before he could make any attempt to escape. The surprise of Mansell and 100 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. Kate may be more easily conceived than painted, when, as the moon- beam fell on the face of the culprit, they recognised the features of Van Buren, his fellow-clerk. Our limits will not allow of our saying more than that Mansell's character was cleared ; while Van Buren, whom Mason, for reasons confined to his own bosom, refrained from prosecuting, quitted the town in merited disgrace. The stranger proved to be a gentleman of large landed property in the neighborhood, which he had now visited for the first time in many years, and, having been interested in the young pair whom he had so opportunely delivered from trib- ulation, he subsequently appointed Mansell his man of business, and thus laid the foundation of his prosperity. It is almost needless to add, that Kate, who had so long shared his heart, became his wife, and shared his good fortune. ENVY AND CANDOR. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO YOtTNO LADIES. ENVY. What do you think of this Miss H. that is come among us ? CANDOR. I think her a very beautiful, elegant, and accomplished young woman. ENVY. That I am convinced is precisely her own opinion. CANDOR. I am at a loss to know how you come to be convinced, from her manner or conversation, that she thinks so highly of herself. ENVY. 0, it is quite evident the men have turned the girl's head ; they tell every woman, as you know very well, my dear, that she is elegant, beautiful, and accomplished. CANDOR. It is not then surprising that they should hold the same language to Miss H., whom they must think so in the highest degree. Don't you remember how all the gentlemen were in her praise ? ENVY. Well, for my part, I do not think the men half so good judges of female beauty as the women. Miss H. has too great a quantity of hair, considering how small her head is. ENVY AND CANDOR. 101 CANDOR. What fault do you find with her person ? ENVY. She is too tall. CANDOR. She is not above an inch taller than yourself. ENVY. I do not pretend to say she is a great deal too tall. CANDOR. Can you pretend to say she is too short ? ENVY. She is neither one thing nor the other ; one does not know v>hat to make of her. CANDOR. That settles the point of her height ; let us now proceed to her face Do you not find something very engaging in her counte- nance ? ENVY. Engaging, do you call it ? CANDOR. Yes, I call it engaging. What do you call it ? ENVY. She is apt, indeed, to smile ; but that is to show her teeth. CANDOR. She would not smile for that purpose, however, unless she had good fine teeth ; and they are certainly the finest I ever saw. ENVY. What signifies teeth ? CANDOR. Well, let us come to her eyes. What do you think of them? ENVY. They are not black. CANDOR. No ; but they are the sweetest blue in nature. ENVY. Blue eyes have been long out of fashion ; black are now all the mode. CANDOR. Blue ones are coming round again; for those of Miss H. are much admired. ENVY. Her fortune would procure her admirers among the men, although she had no eyes at all. CANDOR. That stroke lights entirely on the men, and misses the person against whom it was aimed. ENVY. Aimed ! 1 have no ill-will against Miss H. CANDOR. I am glad to hear it. ENVY. No ! not I ; why should I ? CANDOR. I am sure I can not tell. ENVY. She never did me any injury. CANDOR. I was afraid she had. ENVY. No, not in the least, that I know of. I dare say she is a good enough sort of a girl ; but as for beauty, her pretensions to that are very moderate indeed. 102 ANNIE WILBUR. ' Original. ANNIE WILBUR. BY MISS LOUISA DOUGLASS. IT was Christmas eve, that season so full of festivity, but alas ! in general not sufficiently fraught with a sense of thankfulness for the many religious privileges it confers upon us. Busy crowds were hurrying to and fro, most of them in- tent upon preparations for the morrow. The shops in Broadway, presented their gayest and most attractive appearance, and many a ragged urchin gazed wistfully at the toys, which might never be his. But leaving these bright and dazzling scenes we will turn our steps towards one of those obscure streets which inter- sect the Bowery. In an upper room of a wretched building, the very walls of which seemed tottering under their own weight, were two persons, a young girl, and a boy, whose delicacy of appear- ance was greatly at variance with the coarse and scanty, though perfectly neat furniture about them. Annie Wilbur was twenty three, but her petit, though beautifully proportioned form, delicate complexion, and bright golden hair, made her appear scarcely more than eighteen. Her companion was her brother, a boy about thirteen years of age. The contour of his face was perfect. His complexion was equally delicate as his sisters, with dark eyes and hair of the exquisite chestnut hue, so rarely seen, lay clustering in rich curls on his broad white forehead. On a more close observation, you might perceive that he was slightly deformed, and this it was, added to much early suffering, that cast that shade of sad thoughtfulness over his beautiful countenance. Annie and Charles Wilbur, were the children of an English ANNIE WILBUR. 103 gentleman, a physician of considerable talent and ability, who from various circumstances had been unable to realize much from his profession, until a trifling service afforded to Sir Morely Morton on the hunting ground near that noble- man's estate, was the means of bringing him into notice and increasing his practice considerably. He was frequently invited to Morely House, and intro- duced to some of the most fashionable and dissipated men of the day, and here it was he first acquired that odious habit of gambling, so ruinous in its effects to himself and family. At first he played only to make up a deficiency in the game, but by degrees from inclination, until his passion for gaming grew so strong, that he staked everything he possessed, and all was lost. His plate, his furniture, and even his valuable library, all, all were gone, to satisfy the cravings of a passion as destructive as it is sinful. One night after having lost everything, he fancied he saw his adversary play unfairly, he accused him of it; a chal- lenge was given and accepted, and the next morning Dr. Wilbur was brought home a mangled and disfigured corpse ; his antagonist's ball having carried away the lower part of his jaw, and otherwise injuring him mortally. Mrs. Wilbur who had been in delicate health for many years, was- unable to survive the shock, and three days after her husband was buried, she died also. Ere Annie had recovered from the distress with which this double affliction o'erwhelmed her, she was ordered by her father's creditors to leave the house that had been her home for so many years. Rude hands were laid upon things rendered sacred by the memory of the " lost and loved," and as Annie took a last look of her mother's room, the window where she was wont to sit, and many other things which were inseperably connected with her memory, she burst into tears and felt as if she had indeed parted with her best friend. As she was leaving the z'oom, she saw her mother's bible lying open under the table, she caught it up and kissed it, and as she was about closing it, her eye fell 104 ANNIE WILBUR. upon these words of divine consolation " Trust in me ana I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee." " I will trust in thee, O God," she exclaimed, and kneeling down she prayed long and fervently, and arose refreshed and comforted to seek her little brother. She found him surrounded by the servants who with tearful eyes were bidding him farew r ell. Houseless and homeless, where were they to go ? During their parents lifetime they had lived estranged from their nearest relatives on account of some family dis- agreement, and they had not the slightest knowledge of any of their relations, with the exception of a distant relative of their mother in Ireland. After all the creditor's had been satisfied, there remained nothing for^the orphans but their mothers jewels, so that Annie determined for the present to accept the offer of an old man, who had lived with her father in the capacity of a butler, and who, unlike many others failed not in love and respect to the children of his former master. Old William now lived on a small farm, the fruits of his industry and fru- gality in his younger days, and to this farm Annie and her brother now accompanied him. After remaining there several months, without being able to obtain employment suited to her education and form ex- position in society, Annie determined upon selling her mother's jewels with the exception of a diamond ring, which when living her mother had always worn, and with the proceeds to go to America, where she hoped to be more successful, at least, if she was obliged to condescend, it would be among strangers. She accordingly informed old William of her intentions, who anxiously inquired in what he had offended her. No one has offended me, kind William ; my only reason for leaving you is, that with my health and faculties I do not wish to be a burden to any one, replied Annie. At length the old man consented to her going, and although very aged, insisted upon going with her and her brother to the port from which they were to sail. ANNIE WILBUR. 105 Among the vessels that were about to sail, there was one t the captain of which had been slightly acquainted with Dr. Wilbur, and who, upon hearing the story of their misfor- tunes from old William, insisted upon Annie's acceptance of a free passage for herself and brother. On their arrival in America, Captain Harden, with the true generosity of a sailor, engaged board for Annie and Charles, and paid for it for a short time in advance. She succeeded in getting a small supply of needlework, inade- quate however to their wants, simple as they were. Just as the time for which their board was paid had ex- pired, Annie received the mournful intelligence that Captain Harden's vessel on the return voyage was wrecked and but one lived to tell the sad tale. Annie now felt it her duty to reduce her expenses, and accordingly removed to the humble apartments where we first introduced her to the reader. " Sister, dear Annie, do not exert yourself to finish that work," said Charles, as Annie with pale cheek and sunken eye bent still more closely over the work on which she was engaged. " To-morrow is Christmas, as you know Charlie, and I hoped I should have finished it in time to buy you a Christ- mas box, inferior of course to those you received when our parents were alive, but presented in as true and affectionate a spirit I hope," replied Annie. " But there, I've finished it, and now I will go, the clock is just striking eight, and so saying, Annie put on her cloak and hat, and was about leaving the room \vhen Charles exclaimed, " I wish I could go with you Annie, at the same time glancing mournfully at his shrunken limbs, and wiping away the tear that was ready to start down his cheek. " O 'tis not very far, I can very well go alone," said his sister, as with a kind kiss, and a sweet smile she bade him good night. On her arrival at the store with her work, the proprietor was not in, and the clerk informed Annie he would not be 106 ANNIE WILBUR. there again that night, and he could not pay her for the work. The next day would be Christmas, and consequently the store would be closed. How were they to exist ? for she had given Charles the last morsel in the house at noon, and as for herself she had not tasted food since morning. After a severe struggle with her feelings, she concluded upon selling her mother's ring, which since her arrival in America she had constantly worn about her neck. Painful as it was, she must part with it to sustain life, and hastily untying the ribbon which held it, she proceeded to a jewellers near by. When she arrived there her courage failed, and she was several times about to go home without selling it, but the image of her patient suffering little brother arose before her, and she made one more effort and went in. When she pre- sented the ring, the man glanced at her mean apparel which was in strong contrast to the size and brilliancy of the gem which she offered to sell, and in a harsh unfeeling voice demanded where she obtained it. Her voice faltered and her heart seemed almost bursting as she replied " it was my mothers." Her emotion was considered by the jeweller as a con- vincing proof of her guilt. He accused her of having stoien it, and threatened her with the police. In the midst of her distress a gentleman and lady came into the store to make some purchases, and seeing her tears kindly inquired their cause. Being thus encouraged, Annie told them her whole story and referred them to the lady with whom she formerly boarded for the truth of her assertion. Mr. Austen and his wife, being greatly interested by her modest and lady-like deportment, went with the jeweller to Mrs. Farlan, who corroborated the truth of her statement in every par- ticular. The jeweller being now convinced of her innocence apologized to her, and would willingly have bought the ring ANNIE WILBUR. 107 which was very valuable, even more than Annie was aware of, but Mr. Austen persuaded her to keep it, and accept from him as a loan, if not as a gift a sum of money sufficient for their more pressing and immediate wants. With a heart overflowing with gratitude Annie hastened home to her brother who she well knew would be anxiously expecting her. On her arrival she found him in a state almost of distraction, but his fears were soon allayed on finding her safe and unharmed. In a few days after these occurrences, Mrs. Austen sent for Annie, and communicated the joyful intelligence that she had succeeded in obtaining for her the situation of teacher in a village school in the vicinity of New York, through the influence of the parish clergyman, who had been a college companion of Mr. Austen. Annie's joy may be easily imagined, though as she witnessed the flushed cheek and unnaturally bright eye of her unfortunate little brother, her happiness was greatly lessened by the fear that he would not long enjoy this happy change in their circumstances. In a few days they removed to their new home, and the fresh air and quiet scenery seemed to have so beneficial an effect upon Charlie's health, that Annie began to think her fears had been groundless. But alas ! it was only for a time ; his deformity which had been caused by a fall when an infant, induced a debility which ended his life a short time after they came to live at B . Annie's genuine piety and Christian deportment, added to her personal attractions, excited the admiration of the parish clergyman who was a widower, and after a suitable time had elapsed from the death of her brother, Annie became his wife ; and many a sick couch and dying bed was soothed by the kind attentions of the Pastor's Lady. THERE is no readier way for a man to bring his own worth into question, than by endeavoring to detract from the worth of other men. E U L G I U M . * WASHINGTON, THE DEFENDER OF HIS COUNTRY, THE FOUNDER OF LIBERTY, THE FRIEND OF MAN, HISTORY AND TRADITION ARE EXPLORED IN VAIN FOR A PARALLEL TO HIS CHARACTER. IN THE ANNALS OF MODERN GREATNESS, HE STANDS ALONE, AND THE NOBLEST NAMES OF ANTIQUITY LOSE THEIR LUSTRE IN 'HIS PRESENCE. BORN THE BENEFACTOR OF MANKIND, HE UNITED ALL THE QUALITIES NECESSARY TO AN ILLUSTRIOUS CAREER. NATURE MADE HIM GREAT ; HE MADE HIMSELF VIRTUOUS. CALLED BY HIS COUNTRY TO THE DEFENCE OF HER LIBERTIES, HE TRIUMPHANTLY VINDICATED THE RIGHTS OF HUMANITY, AND ON THE PILLARS OF NATIONAL INDEPENDENCE LAID THE FOUNDATIONS OF A GREAT REPUBLIC. TWICE INVESTED WITH SUPREME MAGISTRACY, BY THE UNANIMOUS VOICE OF A FREE PEOPLE, HE SURPASSED IN THE CABINET THE GLORIES OF THE FIELD, AND VOLUNTARILY RESIGNING THE SCEPTRE AND THE SWORD, RETIRED TO THE SHADES OF PRIVATE LIFE. A SPECTACLE SO NEW AND SO SUBLIME WAS CONTEMPLATED WITH THE PROFOUNDEST ADMIRATION } AND THE NAME OF WASHINGTON, ADDING NEW LUSTRE TO HUMANITY, RESOUNDED TO THE REMOTEST REGIONS OF THE EARTH, MAGNANIMOUS IN YOUTH, GLORIOUS THROUGH LIFE, GREAT IN DEATH, HIS HIGHEST AMBITION THE HAPPINESS OF MANKIND, HIS NOBLEST VICTORY THE CONQUEST OF HIMSELF, BEQUEATHING TO POSTERITY THE INHERITANCE OF HIS FAME, AND BUILDING HIS MONUMENT IN THE HEARTS OF HIS COUNTRYMEN HE LIVED THE ORNAMENT OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, AND DIED REGRETTED BY A MOURNING WORLD. * THE traveller who visits the venerable mansion of the Father of his country, will find ther a likeness of Washington, on the reverse of which are the graphic lines given" above lines so simple and yet so classical, so laconic, and yet so comprehensive, so replete with lofty eulogy, without any exaggeration, that it may be doubted whether a more faultless portrait could be made of this truly great man. In the different volumes of the Family Circle and Parlor Annual, we have furnished steel engravings of Washington's Residence and Tomb, and also of Washington in the act of private devotion, and written descriptions of his youthful and manly character, and now we reconl the most noble tribute to his memory in Capitals : a eulogy which should be printed in golc, embroidered on satin, embossed in s'ilver, and hung up in every habitation in the land, to pro serve the memory of this great and good man, fresh and green in the view of every American. AUTUMN. 109 AUTUMN. EDITORIAL. EACH season of the revolving year, while it unfolds sights and scenes peculiar to itself, serves also to awaken corres- pondent emotions in the mind, which every month contri- butes to diversify and deepen. The unrivalled beauties of the Spring, the full glories of the Summer, the fading yet lovely scenes of Autumn, and the stern aspect of Winter, excite, each in their turn, pure and unalloyed pleasure, rising sometimes to rapture and extacy, and feelings of solemnity and dejection. Summer retires from us in the month of September. But the gloom of the falling year is enlivened by those intervening weeks and days, which adorn the Earth with a robe of more variegated beauty, and gra- dually prepares us for the stern aspect and utter desolation of Winter. The changes which the garden, the field and forest undergo to " Cheer the sober landscape in decay, a thousand tints Which Flora, dress'd in all her pride of bloom, Could scarcely equal, decorate the groves." What a magnificent landscape is now presented to view ! Thompson has described it with matchless skill, and yet how does he sink below the reality. Let any indulge himself in a walk by the rivers bank or on the hill side, and look upon the fading, many-colored landscape, shade deepening over shade, and he will see beauties which even the pen of a Thompson could not describe. On the retina or visual can- vass, nature paints more perfectly than art. For want of close attention and careful observation, we often pass over many of the beauties of nature which w r ould otherwise fill us with delight. The fall of the leaf is so striking, that this declining season of the year, is, in common language called FALL. The 110 AUTUMN. emotions, which this vicissitude of nature is calculated to inspire, are more deep and lasting from the fact that man, with all his pride and towering hopes, is subject to the same law of decay and dissolution. What pomp, what vast variety of hues The woodland scenes adorn. The purple deep, Orange and Opae, and Carnation bright, To the rapt eye their rich profusion spread. Such is the common lot. The North winds soon Their Sylvan spoils will strow along the vales. The leaf incessant flutters to the ground And, fluttering, startles such, who musing stray Lonely and devious through the solemn shades, Yet have these leafy reins charms for me. There is something extremely melancholy in that gradual process by which trees are stripped of all their beauty, and left so many monuments of decay and desolation. We often see the beauties of the waning year vanish in October : sometimes we see a fine Autumnal effect in the beginning of November, even later we trace the beauties of the declining year, and " Catch the last smile Of Autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods." Even when the beauty of the landscape is gone, the charms of Autumn may retain. Before the rigors of Winter are felt, there are often days of such benign softness that every one must feel their effect. The Poet thus describes a day of this kind. " The morning shines Serene in all its dewy beauties bright, Unfolding fair the last Autumnal day. O'er all the soul its sacred influence breathes, Inflames imagination, through the breast Infuses every tenderness and far Beyond dim Earth exalts the swelling thought." It is commonly supposed that the Sun-sets of Autumn are richer than at any other season. llx SCRIPTURE NATURAL HISTORY. SYRIAN OX. " THE ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master's crib." Why is the ox called by a name which signifies to search or seek ? This question will be answered by Isodorus, as quoted by the learned Bochart. He says, " The love of these animals, for their companions is very remarkable, for those that have been yoke-fellows at the plough together, SEARCH AFTER EACH OTHER, hence the name BACRE, to search, and by frequent lowing testify their affections." We con- sider the ox in our country as the emasculated male of horned cattle. As far as I can learn, the BOS-BUBULUS, or BUFFALO, must be the Syrian ox. In general appearance, it very much resembles the common ox. This animal has great indications of strength in the thickness of its trunk, the largeness of its limbs, and the prominence of its muscles. Two domestic buffalos are able to draw as much as four strong horses. The buffalo is originally a native of the warmer parts of Africa and India, while in Europe it is only one of its naturalized quadrupeds. As early as the seventh century, it was introduced into Italy. Original. BRISTOL. C. M. T. HASTINGS. CHORAL. 1. O what a - maz - ing words of grace Are Sr^EF^^g^aE^SF^^S 2. Come then, with all your wants and wounds, Your =o--^ = :: I. O 0~ 3. This spring with liv - ing wa - ter flows, And in the gos - pel found ! Suit - ed to eve ry I M J ' , . _L__ I I I ~T~ - ry bur - den bring ; Here love, e - ter - nal ^~Pl^P.-P=:^-^r^p = ^-pr_ liv - ing joy im - parts ; Come, thirs - ty souls, your sin - ner's case, Who knows the joy - ful sound. .^ hJ__! i I L love a - bounds, A deep ce - !es - tial spring. wants dis close, And drink with thank - ful hearts. , .'' THE MOTHER'S TREASURE. EDITORIAL. With a Steel Engraving. IT is the misfortune of some that they are born heirs to great wealth. It is their misfortune, not their fault. It is the lot assigned them in Providence, in the determination >f which they had no choice nor agency, and hence they .re not accountable for the allotment, but only for the man- .ier in which they conduct under it. It is the misfortune of some to be born rich, because thereby they are placed in a position extremely adverse to the production and growth of virtuous sentiments and habits, and exposed to temptations to which, if they do not readily yield, they offer but a feeble and ineffectual resistance. The rich are expected to move in what are called the first circles, to conform to the laws and customs of high life, to indulge in all the luxuries of the table, of dress, furniture and equipage, in a word, to live in a kind of state, and put on certain airs to distinguish them from all others. Wealth builds up a wall of separation around those who are born to that estate, so that they are a community by themselves ; they affect to have little in com- mon with those without their pale, as though they belonged to another race, or were humanity of a different sort. Few, indeed that are brought up in the midst of wealth and with the notions which wealth usually inspires, have strength of mind sufficient to overcome the almost omnipotent influence of custom and caste. The young heiress, on whose mind no conservative influence is brought to bear, is indulged and humored in every thing, hears litttle but the voice of flattery, VOL. vi. NO. 4. 118 THE MOTHER'S TREASURE. is commonly dressed like a doll kept for show, and sees nought but what ministers to the love of display, and the fostering of pride and vanity. The discipline of the mind, the acquisition of useful knowledge, and the implantation of the seeds of virtue, in a word a preparation for the sober duties of life and the solemn realities of eternity, are not among the objects or at least the prominent objects contem- plated and sought in the education of the young heiress, but mainly the attainment of superficial and showy accomplish- ments and a preparation to figure in the circles of gaiety and fashion. Under such influences, we can easily see how the character would be moulded, and what direction would be given to the thoughts and movements of the mind. We are happy to know that there are found in the circles of the rich, many honorable exceptions to these remarks. The Apostle, in Acts, ranks some honorable woman among the humble followers of Christ. The piety of Lady Hunt- ington gave her a name and influence among the proud aris- tocracy of England which neither wealth nor beauty could confer. It gives us much pleasure to state, that a daughter of the richest man in America, was a lady of Dorcas like spirit, delighting to do good and to scatter blessings in her path. Mrs. Hinton, the beautiful female represented in the engra- ving of this number, is a conspicuous example of genuine piety and high mental endowments, united to great wealth and beauty. Humanity rarely furnishes a nobler specimen of womanhood. She was descended from an ancient and honorable family, and was a rich heiress. Her mother, Mrs. Wilmot, belonged to the old school of stern English matrons, or, to speak more intelligibly, belonged to that class of females of the Martha Washington stamp. Wealth was not used by her as the means of gratifying the pride of corrupt nature, and ministering to the unworthy purposes of ostenta- tious display, but as means J.o higher and nobler ends, such as are worthy the pursuit of rational and immortal beings. The early training of her daughter Clara, was not com- mitted to nurses, and French and Italian masters, but, from THE MOTHERS TREASURE. 119 the earliest dawn of reason she was her sole instructor and guide. She early taught her the fear of God, and led her in the ways of wisdom. Clara, was a beautiful child ; but she was taught to consider beauty, without virtue, but a false, deceitful light ; and hence, instead of being inflated with vanity, she was led the more to prize its noble counterparts and antitypes, mental excellence and moral worth. Instead of setting her heart upon wealth, she was led to seek dura- ble riches. Mrs. Wilmot superintended the whole course of her daughters education, and when she had fulfilled all her plans and completed her work, Clara was all that she desired her to be, a sensible and accomplished female and a humble Christian. This lovely flower bloomed and shed its fragrance under the spreading oaks and towering elms of the ancient and venerable seat of the Wilmot's, until transfered by the hand of Mr. Hinton, a gentleman of rank and fortune, to his splendid suburban palace of London. Clara loved dearly the shades of retirement where she could study the works of God ; she had no ambition to shine among the stars of the fashionable world, and it was difficult to draw her from her sylvan retreat to mingle in the gay circles of the metro- polis. Yet she had been taught to adapt herself to every situation ; and she was fitted as well to shine in courts as to grace her rural home. Her husband felt that he had found in her a priceless gem, and lavished upon her all the affec- tions of a deeply devoted heart, and treated her as though she were a queen ; and she knew how to be grateful for such devotion and such attentions without becoming vain, and encreasing her exactions proportionabty. Their united for- tunes, gave them the means of boundless indulgence, but in nothing, perhaps, was Mr. H. prone to be so lavish in his expen- diture, as in adorning the beautiful person of his wife, which needed not the aid of ornament to encrease her attractions or her influence over him. He took great delight and pride in arraying her in splendid attire, and he felt that it was not only befitting her rank and circumstances, but also becoming her 120 THE MOTHER'S TREASURE. person, which was the perfection of beauty. This was an extremely delicate point to manage, and, few would have managed it with as much prudence and skill as did Mrs. Hinton. It must be admitted, that rich attire becomes a lady of great beauty ; like a diamond set in gold, there is a congruity between the person and the attire. Whereas, the more elegant the costume of a plain-looking and homely female is, the more evident is it, it is designed to supply the place of beauty, to conceal personal defects, and set off the person to advantage. But the artifice generally fails of its object, since the more ornamental and splendid the dress, the more glaring are the defects. The folly of such consists in their wishing to pass for what they are not ; and it is their unhappiness to know and feel that the admiration expressed for them centres not in their person, but in their dress ; or they receive credit for what they know and what others know they do not possess. A homely woman shining in jewels and rich attire, is like a common rough stone set in a circlet of diamonds. The truth is, plain comely dress becomes plain looking females, and vice versa. While it must be admitted beauty is not enhanced by glaring and superfluous ornaments, we cannot subscribe to the com- monly received and oft-quoted sentiment of the poet, that " Beauty w r hen unadorned is adorned the most." None will think for a moment that a beautiful female would look as well in a shilling calico or linsy woolsy, as in a splendid silk or satin dress. By common consent, a beautiful woman arrayed in elegant attire is one of the most lovely and attractive objects in the world. In the article of dress Mrs. Hinton consulted the taste and humor of her husband, yet without displaying an extravagant love of finery, and going into the excesses which charac- terize the devotees of fashion. However costly the dress she wore, her husband saw plainly, as well from her occa- sional remarks, as from the general tenor of her life, that her thoughts were occupied with more important subjects than the decoration of her person, and the contemplation of her THE MOTHER'S TREASURE. 121 charms : and hence he was insensibly and gradually led to think less of the attractions of personal beauty, and more of the enduring perfections of the mind, until at length he became happily assimilated to her in his spirit, desires and hopes. Happy husband ! happy in the possession of a wife in whom is centred almost every human perfection. Look at that face radiant alike with beauty and intelligence, and that form of fine proportions and matchless symmetry ! Behold her seated on an elegant lounge, richly dressed, with her little daughter, the lovely reflection of her own image, reclining on her bosom, with a Bible open before her, out of which she has been instructing her in the knowledge of God and the ways of virtue. With such a mother, what fear can we have for the daughter. Night and day she will watch over the precious treasure and see that it is not lost through her carelessness and inattention. Who can fathom the depths of a mothers love ! It is a fountain which never fails. Let the daughters of wealth contemplate the character of Mrs. Hinton ; mark with what dignity and grace she fulfils all the i*elations of life, and study to imitate those virtues which invest her with such attractions and render her so happy. SALMASIUS. SALMASIUS was a man of most extraordinary abilities, his name resounded through Europe, and his presence was earnestly sought in different nations. When he arrived at the evening of life, he acknowledged that he had too much, and too earnestly, engaged in literary pursuits : " O ! " said he, " I have lost an immense portion of time ; time, that most precious thing in the World ! Had I but one year more, it should be spent in studying David's Psalms, and Paul's epistles. Oh! Sirs," said he to those about him, "mind the World less and God more: 'The fear of the Lord, that is wisdom : and to depart from evil, that is understand- ing.'" 122 A SACRED SONG. Original. A SACRED SONG. BY MARY S. B. DANA, NEW YORK. WHEN the syren, Pleasure, Woos me to her arms, Sings in softest measure, Lures with sweetest charms, Then, Almighty Spirit, O, remember me ! By thy dying merit, Saviour, set me free ! When my steps are straying Far from thee, my God ! And my feet, delaying, Love the dang'rous road, Then, Almighty Spirit, O, remember me ! Saviour ! by thy merit, Lead me back to thee ! When iy foes, prevailing, Triumph and rejoice, When my heart is failing, Hushed my tuneful voice, Then, Almighty Spirit, O, remember me ! Saviour, by thy merit, Let me rest in thee ! When my life is ending, When I'm called to die, When my soul, ascending, Seeks her home on high, Then, Almighty Spirit, O, remember me ! Saviour, by thy merit, Take my soul to thee ! FASHIONABLE AMUSEMENTS. 123 Original. FASHIONABLE AMUSEMENTS. BY MRS. s. c. M'CABE. " Caroline, have you received a card of invitation to attend the SOIREE to-morrow evening, at Mrs. D s," said a young lady to her friend, as she reclined upon an ottoman, whiling away the weary hours of recovery from a danger- ous illness, in the enchanting regions of fiction. 'Yes,' said Caroline, ' but my mother wishes me to decline the invita- tion : she frequently remarks since the death of Aurelius, that society has lost its charms, that Earth appears dark and cheerless, as if all was dead or dying except sorrow ; and we are both convinced, that this world is an unsatisfying portion in the day of trouble, and are determined to seek else-where for happiness ! ' Ah !' said Helen, ' my mother entertains very different views ;' she says ' I had better go to Mrs. D s to-morrow night, as gay company wilkrelieve the tedium of low spirits, and have a favorable effect upon my health.' And so our young friend, at the earnest solicitation of her mother, went to mingle in the exciting throng of fashion, when the hectic glow upon the cheek, would have suggested to a more thoughtful observer, a quiet room, pure air, and careful nursing. ' Oh ! my head aches to bursting ! and the weight I feel upon my heart is insupportable,' was the ejaculation of Helen to her mother, upon the following morning, and the tears fell fast from her expressive eye. 4 Oh ! my dear, I hope you have not taken cold, perhaps the waltzing was too much of an effort, .you should have entered some pleasant circle at quadrille, or joined in a game of ecarte or eucre ; this you could have endured without fatigue : your nervous system is deranged, your spirits 124 FASHIONABLE AMUSEMENTS. droop, but never yield to despondency, I have a few calls to- make this morning, and then I will read for you some of the finished productions of De Israeli Venitia Vivian Gray, or the wondrous tales of Alroy, and these unpleasant ner- vous sensations will soon disappear.' ' Oh ! my head aches !' was the only response of Helen and the mother withdrew, for her morning excursion. Mrs. K , was a woman evidently incorrect in all her views and perceptions of moral truth. Her visions of hap- piness were in festive halls amidst admiring crowds ; while the frivolous demands of fashionable life, were a sufficient excuse at any time for the neglect of domestic duties. Her husband was a man of wealth and of the world, yet pos- sessing more discernment and reflection ; years before he had given up the search for abiding fruition amidst the heartless- ness of fashionable display, while imagination pictured in glowing colors the purer and more enduring pleasures of domestic life. But alas ! for him, these sunny illusions of hope, became dim shadows in his future path. Exquisitely painful, was Mrs. K 's inconsiderate and unwearied pur- suit of vanity, yet after years of disapproval, without any satisfactory change in her habits and sentiments, he deter- mined to act the philosopher, to forget what might have been his, of bliss, with a different centre to his domestic circle, and to endure with a nerved spirit the actual, with its bitter- ness and clouds. Helen K was a favorite child, the idol of her father ; afflictive indeed to him, was the obvious influence of this misjudging mother, in stamping upon her young mind the defective outlines of her own character. Helen, was a girl of more than ordinary promise ; if in the sanctuary of childhood, she had been nurtured with prayer, and taken her impressions for life from the controlling influences of sanctified parental example, she might now have been treading our Earth a communicating medium of light and blessedness to kindred hearts. But early in life she knelt in homage at the shrine of her mother's idolatry : the gilded FASHIONABLE AMUSEMENTS. 125 haunts of fashionable pleasure presenting to her, the only sources of happiness ; sources so dependent upon exterior contingencies, as to keep the heart forever feverish and anxious, at the expense of health, and every ray of consola- tion, that streams from a kindlier sphere, to light up the darkness of this. Her mind became the receptical of all the sickly sentimentality of fiction in its most forbidding garb ; her views of life were false ; her ideal of loveliness and bliss found no counterpart in the actual. In this rest- less pursuit of shadows that elude the grasp, is it strange that the spirit sinks and murmurs, or that these airy dreams of fancy should end in chagrin and misanthropy ? Such was the result, in the case of our young friend ; a thick earthly covering of darkness and sorrow, spread like a pall over her youthful visions ; and she became any thing else, save the mirthful creature that moved of late so gracefully at the sound of the harp and the viol. Retiring from the atmosphere of a crowded ball-room, clad in thin attire, upon a chill November morning, laid the foundation of disease from which she never but partially recovered. And how- ever anxious she might have been, to attend the gay circles at Mrs. D s, with all of former health and vivacity of spirit, we find she returns with a violent head-ache, and a sad heart. Reader, are you in the bloom of youth, and do you bend in adoration at the same empty shrine ? have you no appre- hensions for the future ? Pause ! and ponder ! Your tran- sition from sanguine hope to painful certainty may be equally unexpected, with equal gloom in the prospect ; to these untimely evening shadows over Earth's promised joys, may succeed a starless midnight that knows no coming morn. Helen had been dangerously ill for many weeks ; but the idea of death had never entered her mind : ministering af- fection laved the burning, throbbing temples, kissed away the starting tears, and watched the pulse decline, but in that darkened chamber, there was no sympathising action at the throne of the heavenly grace in behalf of the immortal spirit, 126 FASHIONABLE AMUSEMENTS. but a continual effort to pre-occupy the attention with sunny prospects of health and happiness. To the enquiry's of her friend Caroline, during her moth- er's absence upon the morning referred to, it was evident that Helen had become painfully apprehensive of threatening danger : trembling with excitement, said she ' I have taken an additional cold, I feel very much worse,' and in a des- pairing tone she added ' the terrible thought has presented itself for the first time, that it is possible I may not recover.' This was the weight upon her heart of which she complained as insupportable ; this it was that unsealed the fountain of her tears. Caroline L , ever kind and affectionate, had become familiar with human suffering, and painfully conscious that earthly props are broken spears, when God speaks to us in adversity, bids us look into the grave, and forward to the judgment and its eternal retributions. The previous Au- tumn came hand and hand with death the noble form of her blooming and only brother had been muffled in the winding sheet and consigned to the companionship of worms. The result was, parents and daughter turned an eye to Heaven, " They bid the world its pomp and show With all its glittering snares adieu." Works of fiction were displaced ; the Bible was no longer a neglected book, while through the Divine teachings they were led ultimately to recognize in all a Father's hand. Caroline became deeply interested for her friend ; her frequent remonstrances hitherto, had been met by indiffer- ence and unconcern, with a marked aversion on the part of the mother, to every thing of a serious nature ; and in answer to these fearful forebodings of coming ill, Caroline, said, " I know your mother will be angry with me, Helen, but I do intreat you, in this your time of distress, turn away from the treacherous charms of the world, and seek consola- tion from a higher and better source ; whatever is for us in FASHIONABLE AMUSEMENTS. 127 the future we must meet ; is it not better to prepare for the worst than to be taken by surprise ? You already know my dear girl, that " It is not all of life to live Nor all of death to die." Here the entrance of Mrs. K , prevented further re- marks ; but all future endeavors to interest her in the pictures of romance and tragedy, which the mother vainly supposed would serve as a quietus, were fruitless and inffectual. ****** " Throw aside those curtains, that I may inhale the balmy breath of this pleasant evening," said Helen, after a day of exquisite suffering, during which physicians had been all the time in attendance ; her pulse, one hundred and twenty, while her short irregular respiration, and the hectic upon each cheek, told a fearful tale. By the aid of a Stethoscope, every hope of recovery had been crushed ; all that remained, was so to administer to the suffering patient, as to render her descent to the grave as easy as possible. During an in- termission of suffering, she asked to sit upon the sofa, they raised her gently from the couch, the departing sun-light streaming through the damask crimson at the windows, gave something like the hue of health, to her Grecian cast of features ; her eyes, ever expressive, were lit up with a double brilliancy, as she said with a deep agitation of manner, " Doctor, tell me that I shall certainly recover. It must be so. I cannot die ! Death is but another name for all that is horrible of which I have ever conceived, and I feel that it will be so. I am much better to-night ; I feel almost well ; am I not better Doctor ?" " Yes, Helen, you are better, but ." " Oh ! yes," rejoined the mother, " my darling will certainly get well, it cannot be otherwise." Six weeks elapsed and Helen yet lay upon her couch, wasting and weakening by disease ; while the most skeptical could no longer resist the evidence, that she was fast sinking into the deep slumbers of the grave. The morning was her 128 FASHIONABLE AMUSEMENTS. time for exhaustion, the evening generally found her re- vived and more self possessed. ****** The day had been sultry, but was succeeded by a beauti- ful sun-set, cloudless while the fragrant zephyrs circulating through the apartment, seemed to revive the latent energies of the languishing invalid. All was breathless silence, while she seemed to gaze with interest upon the scenery without ; when suddenly and distinctly she exclaimed, " Oh ! I am most wretched ! Mother, you have ever encouraged me to believe that I would recover ; something tells me that I never shall ; and my mind dwells continually upon the fearful lines repeated to me by Caroline L , " It is not all of LIFE to LIVE, Nor all of DEATH to DIE. Oh ! my mother, why did you not speak to me of THIS, and not bid me seek relief in gay assemblies and novels. Now, it is too late. I cannot breathe a prayer to Heaven, I have never been taught to pray, I could not if I would." " Oh !" she continued, " I am afraid of death ; it is not yielding up my breath, and becoming forever insensible to all here, from which I shrink. No ! it is the terrible hereafter, the some- thing beyond the grave at which I shudder and recoil ! Mother, is there not a passage of scripture something like this, ' having no hope and without God in the world ?' I feel its meaning ! Oh ! we have been treasuring up dust, pursuing shadows, but the spell is broken, the enchantment is dissolved ; a veil is thrown over all that once delighted this poor, fainting, sinking heart, and now where shall I go for co comfort, for re relief;" here she sunk back ex- hausted ; again, revived ; every heart was moved to tears. " Ah !" said she, " well may you weep, for me it is too late ! The door is shut, the returning season is past, on me no ray of mercy e'er will shine," and swooned upon her pillow. The street door-bell gave intimation of the arrival of the attending physician. " Oh ! God of mercy ! exclaimed FASHIONABLE AMUSEMENTS. 129 the mother " Doctor can you do nothing to save her, must she die ?" " Madam, her case is a hopeless one, 1 can do nothing more ; she might have recovered from her first attack, had she not ventured out through the chill night air, to attend Mrs. D s soiree, when too ill to be out of bed," said the Doctor reprovingly. " Ah ! my God ! ex- claimed the father, " my daughter is another victim upon the CRIMSONED ALTAR of FASHIONABLE AMUSEMENTS. To be concluded. PRACTICAL HINTS. NEGLIGENCE. There is a carelessness about some young persons that is manifest in almost every thing they do. Re- gardless of the future, or the opinions of others, they rush forward in some new project, and before they see their error, it is impossible to retrace their steps. If they attempt to study, it is done superficially. If they work, it is often per- formed unfaithfully. When anything new is presented to their minds, they enter into it with all their hearts, to the neglect of what may be of greater importance, and by fre- quently changing their plans and pursuits, fail of success. Minds capable of high efforts of splendid achievements, of extensive usefulness have been paralyzed by its influence. DISCONTENT. A man of discontented mind and ungovern- able passions, can scarcely find a situation where he will be happy. Give him wealth, honor, luxury, ease, and all the comfort which Earth can afford, still his own irritable spirit, superinduced by his own lack of moral and mental culture, will poison all. TRUTH. The heaviest fetter that ever weighed down the limbs of a captive, is as the web of the gossamer, compared with the pledge of a man of honor. The wall of stone, and the bar of iron may be broken, but his plighted word NEVER. 130 PRACTICAL HINTS. KINDNESS. Help others and you relieve yourself. Go out and drive away the cloud from that friend's brow, and you will return with a lighter heart. A word may blight the brightest hope ; a word may revive the dying. A frown may crush a gentle heart. The smile of love, or forgiveness may relieve from torture. GRATITUDE. Be careful to teach your children gratitude. Lead them to acknowledge every favor that they receive ; to speak often of their benefactors, and to ask blessings for them. Accustom them to treat with marked attention their instructors, and those who have aided them in the attainment of knowledge or piety. Gratitude is one of our first duties to God, and should not be forgotten when due to man. TEMPER. No trait of character is more valuable than the possession of a good temper. HOME can never be made happy without it. It is like flowers that spring up in our pathway, reviving and cheering us. Kind words and looks are the outward demonstrations ; patience and forbearance are the sentinels within. Study to acquire and retain a sweet temper. It is more valuable than gold it captivates more than beauty, and to the close of life retains its fresh- ness and power. POLITENESS. Good breeding is both sanctioned, and sug- gested by enlightened reason. Its principles are founded in a love of virtue and a just appreciation of the rights of others. It is by discipline and effort that we attain to that elevation of character which enables, and inclines us to practice self- denial and consult the honor and happiness of others. Let no one think it of little consequence whether he has the manners of a clown or a gentleman. Politeness is a passport to the respect and friendship of the refined and intelligent, and wins favor even from the vulgar. It is benevolence and kindness carried into the details of life, and throws a charm around its most common scenes. Let it be cultivated, and its beauties will daily unfold ; with time and patience the leaf of the mulberry tree becomes satin. LINES. 131 Original. LINES WRITTEN WHILE CROSSING THE GREEN MOUNTAINS. BY CLAUDIUS E. WEBSTER, M. D . Good bye Old Granite Slate, good bye, For twenty years have you and I Cast in our lot together, But many a mile must part awhile, Ere you and I exchange a smile, And ah ! perhaps, forever ! Your hills look blue in the distant view, And rivers roll 'twixt me and you, Their courses on to Ocean Deepning their pathway, shock by shock, Traced by God's finger in the rock In ever restless motion. There was a spot I once called home, In thee in sight of ocean's foam, In hearing of its thunder ; But now, among thy vales and hills, Thy roaring streams or ripling rills, There's home for me no longer. 'Tis true thou art my mother dear, And all the world looked gay and clear, When I with thee began it. But ah ! so cold and hard your heart, That you and I are forced to part. 'Tis made of ice and granite ! Yet though thy hills are rough and bleak, And few there are thy praise to speak, Or only faults discover, Yet here and there's a lovely spot, Never in life to be forgot, Where memory loves to hover. 132 A MOTHER'S LOVE, There's here and there a noble heart, True as the the steel, unmixed with art, Whose love is worth possessing Which from the right will ne'er be turned, For all that baseness ever earned, By fawning or caressing. A MOTHER'S LOVE. See Steel Engraving. A MOTHER'S LOVE ! Ah, what can be Of Earth's affections half so holy, from sin and selfishness so free, So little tinged with human folly ? Look on that face, so calm, so mild ! What love beams forth in every feature ! Ah, thou shouldst treasure, lovely child, The lessons of thy gentle teacher From her thou mayest learn to shun The paths that lead to sin and sorrow ; And through the course thou ha?t to run, Her bright example may'st thou borrow. May peace upon ye both attend, Fair gentle child and lovely mother; When in this world your course shall end, May ye be blessed in another ! SCRAP. ABOUT eighty years ago, a motion was made in Parlia- ment for raising and embodying the Militia, and, for the purpose of saving time, to exercise them on Sundays. When the motion was likely to pass, an old gentleman stood up and said, " Mr. Speaker, I have one objection to this, I believe in an old book called the Bible." The members looked at one another, and the motion was dropped. STRAWBERRIES AND CURRANTS. ROMAN VIRTUE. 133 Original. GEM OF HISTORY. ROMAN VIRTUE. GENEROSITY does not consist in doing justice where it is due, nor in obeying every impulse of humanity in a lavish or wasteful distribution of favors. The character of an action is to be determined by the motive or disposition which prompts it. Thus, generosity is the fruit of a liberal and magnanimous disposition, and exhibits itself in noble disinter- ested acts of kindness. The conduct of the war against the Falisci, having been commited to Camillus, the Roman dictator, he besieged Falerii, their capital city, and drew around it the lines of circumvalla- tion ; these, however, were so distant from the walls that the besieged had ample room for exercise, to take the air without danger. The Falisci had a custom of entrusting the education of all their children to one man, whose business it was to direct their studies and recreations, to instruct them in all the branches of polite literature, to take them out, walking with him, and accustoming them to those bodily exercises which were proper for their age, and neces- sary to promote their health. The children of the Falisci had been in the habit of walking with their master without the walls of the city, before the siege ; and now that the enemy was at such a distance and kept so quiet, their fears did not induce them to discontinue these delightful exercises. It was not long, however, ere a most distressing calamity befel this interesting band of trusting youths. The man who, at that time, had the charge of their education proved a traitor, and violated his solemn trust. At first he lead the youth along the walls ; then he ventured a little farther. At length, when a favorable opportunity presented, he led them through the guards of the Roman camp, quite to the 134 ROMAN VIRTUE. general's tent. As the interesting group contained the children of the first families of the place, the treacherous leader, when he came into Camillas' presence, addressed him thus ; " With these children, I deliver the besieged city into your hands ; they were committed to my care and tui- tion, but I prefer the friendship of Rome to my employment at Falerii." Our young readers and especially parents, may form some idea of the sudden gloom which overspread the inhabi- tants of Falerii, when the sad and affecting tale was told that their children had thus been betrayed into the hands of the Romans, to be held as prisoners and hostages until they were willing to submit to whatever terms might be imposed upon them. Americans are wont to rank Benedict Arnold as the first on the list of traitors, but here is one who takes prece- dency of him in baseness ; the perjured instructor, who sought to purchase the favor of an enemy at the sacrifice of the hope and flower of a people. But our readers are anxious to know what success the infamous plot met with, and how the Roman general was affected by the surrender of so precious and unexpected a hostage. Camillus was struck with horror at so base an act, and looking at the man with a menacing air, thus addressed him ; " Traitor, you do not ad- dress yourself with your impious present, either to a general or a people that resemble you ; we have, indeed, no express and formal alliance with the Falisci, but that which nature has established between all men, both does and shall subsist between us. War has its rights as well as peace, and we have learned to make it with no less justice than valor. We are not in arms against an age which is spared, even in cities taken by assault, but against men armed like yourselves ; men who, without any previous injury from us, attacked the Roman camp at Veii. Thou, to the utmost of thy power, hast succeeded them by a new and different kind of crime ; but for me, I shall conquer as at Veii, by Roman arts, by valor and perseverance." How must the traitor have stood aghast at hearing this ROMAN VIRTUE. 135 noble speech ! How wide the contrast between the senti- ments of this noble Roman and the principles of this unblushing traitor ! But Camillus did not stop here ; he did not dismiss him with this reprimand only ; he caused him to be stripped and to have his hands tied behind him. Then, arming the young scholars with rods, he ordered them to drive him back into the city, and to scourge him all the way ; which they did, doubtless, with good will. Never did a teacher so richly merit such chastisement at the hand of his scholars as in this case ! never was punishment more appropriate or just ! The Falisci, who had been inconsolable for the loss of their children, beholding them enter the city thus, raised a shout of joy ; and it would not be strange, if peals of laughter mingled with those joyful shouts. Charmed beyond measure with so uncommon an example of justice and exalted virtue, the Falisci resolved at once to be at peace with such gener- ous enemies, and accordingly sent deputies to the camp, and afterwards to Rome, where in the audience of the people they thus spake ; " Illustrious Fathers, conquered by you and your general in a manner that can give no offence to the gods and men, we are come to surrender ourselves to you, assuring ourselves that we shall live happier under your government than under our own laws. The event of this war has furnished mankind with two excellent examples. First, you fathers, have prefered justice to immediate con- quest ; and we, influenced by that justice which we admire, voluntarily award you the victory. Few of our readers will forget the story of the school- master of Falerii ; but the illustrious example of disinter- ested kindness and generosity left us by the noble Camillus, should be viewed as a light shining from remote ages, to direct us in the path of virtue and true glory. Scarcely does the history of modern warfare furnish such an instance of magnanimity. O how rare are such examples ! What an influence it would give a man amongst us, if it were known he possessed such a spirit as this virtuous Roman ! When men have got their enemies in their power, they 136 ROMAN VIRTUE. generally use that power with rigor. Alas, how eagerly will they seize an opportunity to satiate their revenge, or subserve their selfish or ambitious purposes. During the thirty years we have narrowly observed the ways of men, we have seen little that resembles the lofty and disinter- ested virtue of the Roman leader. CANARY BIRDS. CANARIES are not naturally so delicate as they are thought to be, but become so for want of proper care. They excel most other birds in their good qualities, the sweetness of their song, which continues most of the year, except the time of moulting, when they are generally silent, though some in spite ,of this annual illness do not even then lose their song. Their plumage is delicate and sometimes beautiful, which is displayed in different colors most commonly in a bright yel- low or straw color. They are very docile and will learn a variety of pleasing little tricks, such as coming at the call and pronouncing words distinctly. They will also learn airs and keep time like a musician. As to the time of pairing, it generally commences about the middle or latter end of March, or perhaps a better criterion would be when the frosts disappear, and the Sun sheds an enlivening warmth. Put the pair you intend to match into a small cage, and al- though they may at first be quarrelsome, they will soon become reconciled which will be known by their feeding each other, billing, etc. Feed them at the time with the following. Boil an egg very hard, chop and grate it fine, add bread crumbled equally fine, a little maw seed, mix this well, and give them a tablespoonful twice a day. In ten days they will be paired. Place the cage in a room that enjoys the morning sun, and not where it shines hot in the afternoon, as the excessive heat will produce sickness, breed mites, etc. Place in the cage a little hay and cows hair, the latter after serving once, may be washed and dried for CANARY BIRDS. 137 future use in building nests. The nest boxes are composed of wicker, or wire bottoms, so that the dust falls through, and there should be but one in a cage at a time or until the hen has hatched, then put in another and make the nest for them as it saves them much fatigue, if it does not please them they will soon adapt it to their fancy. The following food must be given when they have young : Boil an egg and grate it take as much bread as the size of an egg and grate and mix well together, and feed them a spoonful three times a day. For a change soak a piece of stale sweet-bread in water squeeze it out and add a little sweet milk and feed them also give them a little cabbage in its season. This and chickweed, and salad, may be given in their season three times a day. But if they are given early in the year before the bitterness has passed away they are hurtful. The hen sits thirteen but more generally fourteen days. Clean the perches, fill one fountain with water and the other with seed, so that they shall not be disturbed for two or three days after they hatch. When your young ones can feed them- selves, you may cage them off, and give them egg and bread as before stated, with a little maw seed, with some ground or bruised rape, till they are seven weeks old ; when they will be able to crack hard seed which should be given them before that time. If you wish to make one very tame you can bring it up by hand, taking it from the old ones as soon as they are fledged, or feathered, which will be in eleven or twelve days. When taken from the hen, it should be placed in a warm box, and placed in rather a dark situation to make it forget the old ones. Sometimes you will be obliged to remove them. If the hen should be ill, they should be taken from her, for she can- not feed them ; and when she leaves them to the care of the male bird or if she plucks the feathers from her young they should be removed, as in that case she will kill them in two or three days. The following paste may be given, which will keep good fifteen days. Bruise in a mortar or on a table with a rolling 138 CANARY BIRDS. pin a quart of rape seed in such a manner, that you can blow the chaff away, and a piece of bread, reducing them to powder. Put it in a dry box and keep it from the sun. Give a teaspoonful of this, and a little hard egg grated with a few drops of water. This will become unfit for them after twenty days, as then it will be sour. It may be given with- out harm to the old birds if necessary, but it must be given dry. Or if preferred you may give for the first three days, grated 'egg and sponge biscuit made fine and mixed with a little water to make it like paste. Then add a small quan- tity of scalded rape seed, as then they are strong enough to digest it. They may also have a small quantity of chick- weed seed, and a sweet almond peeled and chopped fine. The chickweed may be given twice a day in very hot weather. Birds brought up by hand require to be fed once in two hours. To feed them, sharpen a little stick of wood and give them at each feeding four or five mouthfuls, or until they refuse to open their mouths voluntarily. At a month old you may cease feeding them with a stick, as they will then begin to feed alone. You must put them in a cage without perches first and have a little bird seed in a box or glass, and in about seven weeks take the soft food by degrees away, and leave only the hard seed. It will be well occa- sionally to give a little bruised hempseed especialy in winter. If they are ill when young, treat them as follows. Bruise some hempseed and soak it a little in water, then squeeze it through a cloth which forms what is called the milk of hemp- seed. This will strengthen and nourish young birds very much, but you must take the water glass away when you give this medicine. SCRAP. THE only disturber of men, of families, cities, kingdoms, worlds, is sin ; there is no such troubler, no such traitor to any state, as the wilfully wicked man ; no such enemy to the public as the enemy of God. THREE SCENES. 139 Original. THREE SCENES. I SAW them before the altar. Early love had brought its offering to be presented in the fulness of faith and the fer- vency of feeling. The vows were soon uttered, the tokens exchanged, the prayer breathed, and the solemn union announced. It was a wedding-scene of deep interest. First of all, thoughts clustered around the altar, and I rea- lized the fitness of the place for such an event. If the altar be the memorial of divine love to us, what better spot for the pledge of our affections to the chosen of the heart ! If we owe to Christianity the sacredness of marriage-ties, how proper, that amid its selectest emblems, we should unite the hands, that are henceforth to thrill with one pulse ! I saw that lovely woman trembling on the brink of the grave. She was far away in the South, hoping to recover strength amid its pleasant Winter-scenes. Her husband was soon called to attend her. I marked her failing vigor, and as I traced the progress of disease, wept that sin and death should be united. If it were death alone, if the eye closed and the brow grew cold as natural occurrences, it would not be so terrible. But sin darkens and deepens the shadow. The beautiful light expires in the gloom of the corse, and the farewell words die in the groans of dissolution. I prayed with the sinking sufferer. There were low whisperings of hope and love, that had gone upward and anticipated the promised heritage. There were simple tokens of heart- resignation. The heavenly priestess prepared the last sacri- fice, and as the sacred act proceeded and the incense rose upward, the dying one raised her feeble hand and dropped a parting-gift to her stricken husband. " OPEN IT WHEN YOU LAY ME IN THE EARTH," were her only words. It was the last day of Winter ; with it, her wintry-time ended. It was the day before the Sabbath ; that Sabbath opened the history of her immortality. 140 THREE SCENES. I saw her borne to the grave. The last ritual performed. She was committed to its guardianship. The stillness of the Sabbath descended on the scene, and the sanctity of its blessing seemed to hallow it. We left the spot. The mourner and myself returned home ; and there beside the couch, where she died, the death-gift was examined. It was the marriage-ring with these words in her hand- writing ; " WE HAVE BEEN ONE UPON EARTH ; LET us BE OXE IN HEAVEN !" And then came the earnest response of the spirit the choral language of all prayer and praise " AMEN !" I had often heard that word. I had heard it from the lips of penitence ; I had heard it as the strain of triumph ; but now it came to my heart, with a higher import, for it sealed a covenant for Eternity. The bereaved husband entered again upon the duties of life, but there was a strange feebleness in his purposes, and the desolateness of his bosom seemed to be spread over every thing. Temptation finally succeeded in leading him from the close embrace of the Cross. Another power ac- quired the control. The better fellowship was forgotten and meaner companionships encouraged. Still there were moments of thoughtfulness. Driven from every other refuge the shrined fulness of the heart denied it the throned supremacy of conscience destroyed the sentiments , of better days retired to memory, always lasts to yield to the tempter, always cherishing, until utterly overthrown, some germ of the higher life. The solitary man was called away from home. A long journey was before him. Days had passed and nights had succeeded ; the brightness of the one bringing no joy, the gloom of the other blending with sympathetic sorrow. The travel had nearly ended. Evening shades, resigning man to himself and bringing nature nearer to God, closed around him, and *the weary traveller began to weep. How often are tears prophetic ! How frequently the heart is led into some converse, of which the intellect takes no observa- THREE SCENES. 141 tion, and ere it is aware, startles it into active thought, by the quickened blood and moistened eye ! Another moment, and a low voice was heard singing the beautiful lines Soon shall we meet again, Meet ne'er to sever ; Soon will peace wreathe her chain, Round us forever ; Our hearts will then repose Secure from worldly woes, Our songs of praise shall close Never, no, never ! And as they echoed among the forest trees, his own spirit seemed to struggle to take up the tones and prolong them. Then came the outgushing emotions. Then followed the scene after the burial of the glorified wife, in greater vivid- ness. Feeling had responded to it partially before, but now the touching history, look, form and shape amid the night- shadows, and the love-motto glowed before him, " WE HAVE BEEN ONE UPON EARTH ; LET US BE ONE IN HEAVEN !" The estranged heart mourned over its forgetfulness and repented. The next " AMEN" was not only answered on Earth, but we hope, realized by the mourner in Heaven. A. A. L. WILL OF GOD. IT is the strongest and most binding reason that can be used to a Christian mind, which hath resigned itself to be governed by that rule, to have "the will of God" for its law. Whatsoever is required of it upon that warrant, it cannot re- fuse. Although it cross a man's own humor, or his private interest, yet if his heart be subjected to the will of God, he will not stand with him in anything. One word from God, "I will have it so," silences all, and carries it against all opposition. 142 THE GRAVES OF THOSE WE LOVE. THE GRAVES OF THOSE WE LOVE. B Y W. IRVING. THE grave is the ordeal of true affection. It is there that the divine passion of the soul manifests its superiority to the instinctive impulse of mere animal attachment. The latter must be continually refreshed and kept alive by the presence of its object ; but the love that is seated in the soul can live on long remembrance. The mere inclinations of sense lan- guish and decline with the charms which excited them, and turn with shuddering and disgust from the dismal precincts of the tomb ; but it is thence that truly spiritual affection rises purified from every sensual desire, and returns, like a holy flame, to illumine and sanctify the heart of the survivor. The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal every other affliction to forget ; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother who would willingly forget the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is a pang ? Where is the child that would willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember be but to lament ? Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns ? Who, even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved, when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed, in the closing of its portal ; would accept of consolation that must be bought by forget fulness ? Xo, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has woes, it has likewise its delights ; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness who would root out THE GRAVES OF THOSE WE LOVE. 143 such a sorrow from the heart ? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gaiety, or spread a* deeper sadness over the hour of gloom ; yet who would exchange it even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry ? No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead, to which we turn even from the charms of the living. Oh, the grave ! the grave ! It hurries every error covers every defect extinguishes every resentment ! From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender rec- ollections. Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should ever have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him ? But the grave of those we loved what a place for medi- tation ! There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endear- ments lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily inter- course of intimacy ; there it is that we dwell upon the ten- derness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene. The bed of death ! with all its stifled griefs ! its noiseless attendance ! its mute, watchful assiduities ! The last testi- monies of expiring love ! The feeble, fluttering, thrilling, oh ! how thrilling ! pressure of the hand ! The last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us even from the threshold of existence ! The faint, faltering accents, strug- gling in death to give one more assurance of affection ! Ay, go to the grave of buried love and meditate ! There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit unrequited, every past endearment unregarded, of that de- parted being, who can never never never return to be soothed by thy contrition ! If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a farrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate pa- rant if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth if thou art 144 SUMMER IS GOXE. a friend, and hast ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee i thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet, then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul -then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of nature about the grave ; console thy broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, yet futile tributes of regret ; but take warning by the bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over the dead, and henceforth be more faithful and affection- ate in the discharge of thy duties to the living. SUMMER IS GONE. BY H. A. B. Summer is gone, the fair young flowers Have faded in their bloom, And the music of the fairy hewers Is hush'd 'mid Autumn's gloom. And yet the trees all gloriously, Have put her mantle on- Of gold and scarlet gorgeously, Like banners proudly borne. Oh ! Autumn thou'rt beautiful, For the Frost-King in his might- Hath robed the Earth all fanciful With hues of rosy light. OUR Summer life, hath Autumn too, And 'rnid its waning bloom, We wait that Spring, whose fadeless hues E'er glows beyond the tomb. HINTS, ETC. 145 HINTS; TO YOUNG HOUSEWIVES AND DAUGHTERS. EXCELLENCE is providentially placed beyond the reach of indolence, that success may be the reward of industry, and that idleness may be punished with obscurity and disgrace. TRAINING THE MIND. A sound moral discipline, and a well regulated mind, can under God, carry a man through life so that he will not be the sport and victim of every change that flits across the scene. And it cannot be too anxiously borne in mind, that this great attainment is in a remarkable degree under the influence of habit. Every day that passes, and every step that we take, with- out making it the object of earnest attention, renders the ac- quirement more difficult and uncertain, until a period at length arrives when no power exists in the mind capable of correcting the disorder which habit has fixed. The frivo- lous mind may then continue frivolous to the last, amusing itself with trifles, or creating for itself fictions of the fancy, no better than dreams. The distorted mind may continue to the last eagerly pursuing its speculations, departing fur- ther from the truth ; and the vitiated mind may continue to the last, the slave of its impure and degrading passions. Such is the power, and such the result of mental habits. We cannot determine how many acts of frivolity may con- stitute the permanently frivolous mind ; how many trains of impure thought, may constitute the corrupted mind ; or what degrees of inattention to the diligent culture of the powers within may be fatal to our best interests. In early life, aim at the mastery of the mind ; give earnest attention to the trains of thought encouraged, as habits may be thus unconsciously formed, the influence of which may be per- manent and irremediable, and peril the happiness of life and the immortal interests of the soul. RESOLUTION. There is nothing in man so potential for 146 HINTS, ETC. weal or woe, as firmness of purpose. Resolution is almost omnipotent. Sheridan was at first timid, and was obliged to sit down in the midst of a speech. Confounded, and mor- tified at the cause of his failure, he said one day to a friend, "It is in me, and it shall come out." From that moment, he rose, and shone, and triumphed in consummate eloquence. Here was true moral courage. It was well observed by a heathen moralist, that it is not because things are difficult that we dare not undertake them. Be then bold in spirit. Indulge no doubts, for doubts are traitors. In the practical pursuit of our high aim, let us not lose sight of it in the slightest instance; for it is more by a disregard of SMALL THINGS, than by open and flagrant offences that men come short of excellence. There is always a right and a wrong, and if you ever doubt, be sure you take not the wrong. Observe this rule, and every experience will be to you a means of advancement. PUNCTUALITY. Method is the very hinge of business ; and there is no method without punctuality. A want of this virtue, would throw the whole world into a state of confu- sion and disorder. Punctuality is important, because it is not only the golden chain of the universe, but because it promotes the peace, order, good temper, and happiness of a family. The want of it, not only infringes on necessary duty, but sometimes excludes it. The calmness of mind which it pro- duces is another advantage of punctuality. A disorderly person is always in a hurry, and has no time. Punctuality gives weight to character, and like other virtues, it propa- gates itself. Servants and children will be punctual where their leader is so. PATIENCE. As the bee extracts sweets from the bitterest plants, so the patient and resigned spirit derives instruction and even happiness from the severest misfortunes and the sorest trials. FOR CURING BEEP. Six pounds of Turk Island salt, four pounds sugar, four ounces salt petre. Pack as close as pos- sible. per 100 pounds Beef. THE FATAL SECRET. 147 THE FATAL SECRET. How many such secrets are locked up in the minds of those who move about from day to day, and mingle with the crowd in the busy haunts of men : Many years since, in a large and flourishing village that stood on the banks of one of the beautiful Western lakes, resided a merchant of high standing, and great influence. He had been one of the early settlers in that Western world, and was supposed to possess immense wealth. His property had been acquired by persevering toil, and unwearied indus- try. And still, though to all appearance he was rolling in affluence, he rose early, and sat up late, and toiled incessant- ly to amass earthly treasure. As I have already remarked, this man was reputed to be immensely wealthy. As his pecuniary means increased, he extended his business. This circumstance, although it was ultimately the cause of his ruin, at the time increased public confidence : for it was sup- posed that one so prudent and calculating as he would run no risk, nor engage in any Quixotic enterprise. So high did he stand in the public esteem, as a man of wealth, and incorruptible probity, that the more prudent farmers around him, who had small sums of money to loan widows who had just a little pittance left them on which to subsist, and many of the laboring class of people, who, by their industry and economy, had laid aside a little for a day of future want, instead of depositing their money in the bank, or investing it in stock, put it into his hands as a place be- yond the reach of accident. Vast sums of money had thus been committed to him in trust. But all this time he was a bankrupt ! No one knew it but himself, and he would not permit himself to think of it for a single moment. It was a painful subject, and he kept it constantly in abeyance. Though causes were at work which must infallibly dis- 148 THE FATAL SECRET. close the fatal secret, and wrest from him all his possessions, he would never suffer himself to dwell upon this thought a moment. He kept on, calmly prosecuting his plans, but steadily averting his eye from events, which he knew must inevitably involve him in irrecoverable disaster. Had he looked the danger in the face, and been willing to have sur- rendered his property at an earlier period, he might have avoided a final shipwreck. But from the commencement, the subject was a painful one, and he instinctively shrunk from examining it. His wish was to put off as far as possi- ble the evil day, hoping that some happy occurrence in the meantime might extricate him from the embarrassment in which he was involved. But this was absolutely hoping against hope. Every movement he made, involved him deeper in difficulty. The widow and the fatherless still came to him to deposit their little all in his hands. Though conscience stung him, he had not moral courage, or moral honesty enough to tell them, TO KEEP THEIR MONEY, FOR THEY WERE CASTING IT INTO A GREAT MAELSTROM, which would swallow it all up, and they would never see it more. The evil day at length came ! His house fell, and great was the fall of it ! Himself and hundreds of others were crushed beneath its ruins ; and all this because he was not willing to meet the difficulty in its incipient stages before it was forever too late. The unconverted sinner is acting just such a part. HE is a bankrupt. He owes an immense debt to Jehovah, and has nothing to pay. God is calling him to a settlement, but he turns away and utterly refuses to look at the state of his affairs. Though he knows things are now very bad, and are growing worse and worse every hour, yet he turns away his thoughts from the subject, and fixes them upon something else. Like that conscious bankrupt, he puts off the evil day ! But the evil day will come, and then he will find himself ruined forever. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ENGLAND AND THE ENGLISH. BY THE EDITOR. Years of severe and uninterrupted toil and the consequent waste of nervous energy and loss of health induced the writer to try the benefit of a tour to England. We took passage in the noble Packet, the Queen of the West, and had a pleasant voyage. The great ocean, bounded alone by the arching heavens is a sublime object ; and when no storms arise to endanger the safety of the frail barque, the contem- plative mind cannot fail to see much, even in its monotonous scenery to enhance his pleasure and exalt his conceptions of the Deity. After traversing the silent waste, meeting only now and then a solitary sail, whose heart does not leap for joy on coming in sight of land and beholding, once more, in the dim and distant horizon, the marks of civilization and the homes of a happy people? After a passage of twenty days, wafted by gentle breezes and fair winds, the Queen of the West, was safely lodged in her birth at Liverpool. We will not venture to describe our feelings at first setting foot on the shores of England. It is sufficient to say the impression made on our minds was such as we shall love to recall in all their original brightness in future years. Although many things conspired to remind us that we were among strangci';-, yet not once were we depressed with that homeless feeling of which some have so sadly complained while sojourning in other quarters of the Globe. If, in any part of the old world, an American can find much to make him forget that he is from home and among strangers, it is in VOL. VI. NO. 5. 154 FIRST IMPRESSIONS. England, the land of his ancestors, whence he has derived his language, and those noble institutions which have made his country the seat of intelligence and piety. Liverpool is the second great commercial city of England, and may at some distant period, rival the metropolis itself in commercial importance. There is little particularly striking ' in its external features, to distinguish it from New York and other American cities, except its magnificent Docks and Ba- sins, compared with which the Docks of London, are an in- considerable affair. These stupendous works of Art are con- structed of solid masonry, and occupy 120 acres. At low water, the walls constituting the quays are grand objects of artificial structure. The solidity, beauty and perfection of the masonry present a striking contrast to the wooden, perishable docks and wharves of our American Ports. From Liverpool we proceeded to London. The distance is 212 miles and is ordinarily passed over, by the express trains in four or five hours. In passing through almost any part of England, an American cannot fail to be impressed with the idea that he is in the old world. There is much that is antique and staid looking ; every where is seen the foot prints of past generations, the works of a great and mighty people who have carried the various useful arts to high perfection. Every thing wears the appearance of venerable, yet vigorous old age. The decayed old Towns the quaint forms of many of the dwellings the arched, antique gateways, the Gothic structures, the time honored sanctuaries which our fore-fathers left, to find a home and an altar in "the depths of the deserts gloom" the ancient Castles, once the abode of powerful Barons, now forsaken and frowning in ruin ; these things remind us that we have entered the time hallowed precincts of the Old World, where the monuments of by gone days stand thick around us; every where the ashes of past generations mingle with the soil on which the stranger treads and bids him tread softly as one who sprung from a portion of that once animated, dust. FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 155 At length, the object of our cherished desires is accomplish- ed we are in London, the great city! the world in miniature the pride of Earth ! look which way we will, the scene surpasses, immeasurably, in magnificence and beauty, every idea we had formed of the most renowned cities of ancient or modern times. We tarried here but a few weeks in that time, the vast assemblage of grand and interesting objects, the numerous monuments of past-ages and the memorials of individual greatness which crowded the mighty canvass presented a picture of sublimity and beauty which surpassed every thing my imagination had yet conceived. The pleasure we enjoyed in contemplating such a scene makes us desirous that the younger portion of our readers should, in some way, participate in it. A few hasty sketches is all that we can give at the present time. 'London may be considered, not merely as the CAPITAL OF ENGLAND or the British Empire, but as the METROPOLIS OF THE WORLD ; not merely as the abode of intelligence and industry, the grand centre of trade and commerce, and the resort of the learned of every nation, but as being with- out a rival in every means of aggrandizement and enjoy- ment, in every thing that can render life sweet and man happy. We can give our readers no adequate idea of the extent or magnificence of London. We despair even of being able to transcribe our own impressions. Within a circumference, the radius of which does not exceed six miles, there are never probably less than two millions of human beings ; and if the great bell of St. Paul were swung to the full pitch of its tocsin sound, more ears would hear it than could, the loudest roar of Etna or Vesuvius. If you were to take your station in the ball or upper gallery of that great edifice, the wide horizon, surrounded as it is with men and their dwellings, would form a panorama of industry and life more astonishing than could be seen from any other point in the universe. Is it any wonder that one coming from a country yet in its infancy, should be amazed at the extent of London, its magnificent Palaces and Parks and 156 FIRST IMPRESSIONS. warehouses and the endless details of convenience and com- fort, and its aggregate of untold wealth ? How natural it is to conclude the City is the work of ages ; yes, millions of minds and hands have been here at work 2000 years. What may not New York, or Cincinnati become in that space of time? But we must dismiss London for the present and conclude this article, by alluding to a topic in which every Englishman takes a peculiar pride. We were struck, as it is impossible not to be, with the immense POPULARITY OF THE QUEEX. But one feeling seems to pervade the great mass of the British Nation and that is a feeling of enthusiastic, idolatrous attachment and devotion to VICTORIA. The Dedication of Lincoln Inns, a magnificent edifice endowed for the great Barristers of London presented a fine opportunity for the manifestation of the popular feeling. It was known that the Queen and members of the Royal family were to be present. All London seemed in motion. Long before the time the Dedication was to commence, the tide of living beings began to flow from all directions ; the gathering and still increasing multitudes seemed like the unnumbered, waves of the ocean when agitated by a storm. But few, however of the vast crowds, came to witness the Dedication. The desire of seeing the Queen, drew them together. Though they had probably, most of them seen her at different times, their curiosity seemed as great as though they had seen her not. We tried to get a glimpse of her majesty, BUT IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE, yet, the occasion was not lost to us, since, in the midst of this mighty confluence of Britons, we could, in a sense see and feel the strong pulsations of a nation's heart. Long may Victoria live to bless the people in whose hearts, as well as over whom externally, she Reigns a Sovereign. To be Continued. THK MAN OF SORROMS, 157 "THE MAN OF SORROWS." BY MISS AIRD. " Who is He that purple wearing, All the taunts of malice bearing Silent 'neath the mocker's scorn ; As a lamb to slaughter leading, Bound and wounded, faint and bleeding, Pale and weary sorrow- worn ; Scourged and smitten, uncomplaining, Dust and gore his garments staining See ! they pierce with thorns his brow ; Fainting 'neath the cross now bending, Tears with Salem's daughters blending ." " Son of Man ! 'tis Thou ! 'tis Thou ?" Hark ! he prays, while .agonizing, For the murderers who despise him ! Sinners ! whence that anguished cry ? " Sore reproach my heart is breaking, My God ! My God -! hast thou forsaken Thy beloved why ? oh ! why ?" Sin alone could thus accuse him, Though it pleased the Lord to bruise him, All oar sins were on him laid ; For transgression was he stricken, For " the sheep the Shepherd smitten" Thus the fall atonement made. "It is finished P' hear him crying Meekly bows his head, and dying, Thus he justice satisfies ; With his blood each .promise sealing, \V