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3 JFaiwWfi JLetoisiwjper : 2)ctooted to tfie &rtg, Science, Stgrieulture, i^ecfinnfc, JForeifiu ausr ©owessttc KttteUi&euee, turnout, see. BY C. R. HANLEITER. [p©HYKY a *• Much yet remains unsung .” THE BETROTHED. Had I met thee in thy beauly, When my heart and hand were freCj When no other claimed the duty Which my soul would yield to thee i llad l wooed thee—had I won thee — Oh ! how blest had been my fate '. But thy sweetness hath undone me— I have found thee —but too late. For to one my vows were plighted With a faltering lip and pale ; Hands our cruel sires united — Hearts were deemed of Blight avail! Thus my youth's bright morn o’ershaded, Thus bethroned to wealth and state, All love’s own sweet prospect faded — I have found thee—but too late ! Like the fawn that finds the fountain, With the arrow in his breast, Or like light upon the mountain Where the snow must ever rest— Thou hast known me, but forget me, For I feel what ills await; Oh ! ’tis madness to have met thee — To havj found thee—but too late! “ Sometimes fair truth in fiction we disguise ; Sometimes present her naked to men’s eyes.” From Graham’s Magazine. THE SCIENCE OF KISSING!! THE AFTER-DINNER TALK OF JEREMY SHORT, ESQ. What glorious times, Oliver, the old Turks must have, sitting, on a sultry day like this, listening to the cool plashing of their foun tains, and smoking their chiboques—egad ! until they fall asleep, and dream of dark eyed Houris smiling on them, amid the fragrant groves and by the cool rivers of a Musselman Paradise. What a pity we were not born in Turkey, you a Bashaw of three tails, and I the Sultaun of Stamboul! How we would have stroked our beards—and smoked our pipes—and given praise to the prophet as we drank our sherbert, spiced, you know, with a very little of the aqua ri tes, that comfort of comforts to the inner man! We could then have dressed like gen tlemen, and not gone about, as we do now, breeched, coated, and swaddled in broad clothi, like a couple of Egyptian mummies. Just imagine yourself in a dashing Turkish dress, with a turban on your head, and a scimitar all studded with diamonds at your side, with which—the scimitar I mean— you are wont to slice off the heads of infi dels as I slice off the top of this pyramid of ice-cream—help fyourself for .it’s deli cious ! I think I see us now, charging at the head of our the rascally Rus sians, driving their half slwved soldier slaves like chaff before a whirlwind, and car rying our horse-tails and shouting “ 11 Al lah !” into the very tents of their chieftains. What magnificent fellows we would have made ! Ah ! my dear boy, you and I are out of our element. Take my word for it, a Turk is your finest gentleman, your true philosopher, the only man that understands bow to live. He keeps better horses, wears richer clotlies, walkes with a nobler mien, smokes more luxuriously, drinks more se ductive coffee, and kisses bis wife or ladye love with better grace, than any man or set of men, except you and I, “ under the broad canopy of heaven” as the townmeeting ora tors have it. And let me tell you this last accomplishment —this kissing gracefully, “ secuntum artum” is a point of education most impiously neglected amongst us. Kiss ing is a science by itself. Let us draw up to the window where we can drink in the presume of the garden, and while you whiff away at your meerschaum, I will prove the truth of my assertion. One has a knack for talking after dinner—l suppose it is because good steaks and madeira lubricate the tongue. We are bom to kiss and be kissed. It natural to us, as marriage does to a Woman. Why, sir, I can remember kissing Hie female babies when I was yet in my cra dle, and my friend Sir Thomas Lawrence did bimself the honor to paint me at my favorite pursuit, as you know by that exqui site picture in my library. The very first day I went to school I kissed all the sweet little angels there. I wasn’t fairly out of my alphabet, when I used to wait behind a pump, for my sweetheart to come out of school, and as soon as I saw her I made a point of kissing her just to see how prettily she blushed. As I grew older I loved to steal in, some summer evening, on her, •und kiss her asleep on the sofa—or, if she was awake, and the old folks were by, I’d Wait till they both got nodding, and then kiss her all the sweeter for the slyness of the thing. Ah ! such stolen draughts are de licious. I wouldn’t give a sous to kiss a girl in company, and I always hated Copen hagen, Pawns, and your other kissing plays, as I hope I hate the devil. They had a shocking custom when I was young, that everybody at the wedding should kiss the bride, just as they all drank, in the same free and easy way, out of the one big china punch-bowl; but the practice always hurt tny sensibilities, and I avoided weddings as I would avoid a ghost, a bailiff, or any other fright. No—no—get your little charmer up into a comer by yourselves—watch when everybody’s back is turned—then slip your arm around her waist, and kiss her with a long sweet kiss, as if you were a bee suck ing honey from a flower. Nor can one kiss every girl. I’d as lief take ipecacuanha as kiss some of your sharp-chinned icicle mouthed, lignum-vitae-faced spinsters—why one couldn’t get the taste of the bitters out of his mouth For a week! Igo in for your rosy, pouting lips, that seem to challenge everybody so saucily—egad ! when we kiss such at our leisure, we think we’re in a sev enth heaven. 1 once lived on such a kiss for forty-eight hours, for it took the taste for commoner food out of my mouth “ intirely,” as poor Power used to say. Oh! how I loved the wide, daik entries one finds in old mansions, where one could catch these sau cy little fairies, and, before they were well aware of your presence, kiss them so deli ciously. There’s kissing for you ! Or, to go upon a sleigh ride, and when all, save you and your partner, are busy chatting— while the merry ringing of the bells and the whizzing motion of* the vehicle cause your spirits to dance for very joy—to make be lieve that you wish to arrange the buffalo, or pull her shawl up closer around her, and then slyly stealing your face into her bonnet to kiss her for an instant of ecstasy, while she blushes to the very temples, lest others may catch you at your sport. And then, on a summer eve, to row out upon the bosom of a moonlit lake, and while one of the la dies sings and all the rest listen, to snatch a chance and laughingly kiss the pretty girl at your side, all unnoticed except by her. Or to sit beside a charmer on a sofa, before a cozy fire on a bitter winter night, and fill up the pauses of the conversation, you know, by drawing her to you and kissing her. But more than all, when you have won a blushing confession of love from her you have long and tremblingly worshipped with all a boy’s devotion, is the rapture of the kiss which you press holily to her brow, while her warm heart flutters against your side, and every pulse in your body thrills with an ecstasy that has no rival in after life. Ah ! sir, that kiss is the kiss. It is worth all the rest. Next to being bom a Turk I should choose to have been born an Englishman in the days of Harry the Eighth. Do you remem ber how Erasmus tells us, in one of his let ters, that all the pretty women in London ran up to him and kissed him whenever they met 1 That’s what I call being in clover. I do n’t wonder people long for the good old times, for, if all their fashions were like this, commend me to the days of the bluff monarch, when “ thus passed on the time, With jolly ways in those brave old day*, When the world was in its prime.” Did you ever attend a children’s party, and see the little dears play Copenhagen 1 The boys seem to have an instinctive knack at kissing their partners, who always show the same modest repugnance—for modesty is inborn in every woman—aye ! and flings a glory about her like the halo around a Ma donna’s head. The very instant one of the young scapegraces gets into the ring, he looks slyly all around it, and there be sure is one little face that blushes scarlet, and one little heart that beats faster, for well the owner knows that she in peril. How fast her hands slide to and fro along the rope, and directly the imprisoned youngster makes a dash at her hand, and, missing it, turns a way amid the uproarious laughter and clap ping of hands of the rest, and essays per chance a feint to tap some other little hand, all the while, however, keeping one corner of his eye fixed on the blushing damsel who has foiled him. And lo ! all at once—like an eagle shooting from the skies—he daits upon it. And now begins the struggle. What a shouting—and merry laughing— what cries of encouragement from the look ers on—what a diving under the rope, and over the rope, and among the chairs, mingled with whoopings from the boys, ensues, un til the victim has escaped, or else been caught by her pursuer. Sometimes she submits quietly to tfee forfeit, but at other times she will fight like a young tiger. Then, indeed, comes “ the tug of war.” If she covers her face in her hands, and is a sturdy little piece beside, young Master Harry will have to give up the game, and be the laughing stock of the boys, or else set all chivalry at defi ance and tear away those pretty hands by force. Many a time, you old curmudgeon, have I laughed until the tears ran out of my eyes to see a young scoundrel, scarcely breeched, kissing an unwilling favorite. How sturdily he sticks up to her, one hand around her neck, and the other, herhaps, fast hold of her chin; while she, with face avert ed, and a frown upon her tiny brow, is a!! the while pushing him desperately away. But the young rascal knows he is the strong est, and with him might makes right. With eagerness in every line of his face, he slips his arm around her waist, and, after sundry repulses, wins the kiss at last. And then what a mighty gentleman he thinks ho is ! In just such a scene has my old friend Law rence taken me off, in that picture, of The Proffered Kiss, in my library,|egad! It is a great grief to me that a few un derstand now to kiss gracefully. Kissing is an accomplishment, 1 may be allowed to remark, that should form a part of every gentleman’s education. A man that is too bashful to kiss a lady when all is agreeable, MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 28, 1842. as Mrs. Malaprop would say, is a poor good for-nought, a lost sinner, without hope of mercy ! He will never have the courage to pop the question, mark my word, and will remain a bachelor to his dying day, unless some lSdy kindly takes him in hand and asks him to have her, as my friend Mrs. Desper ate did. The women have a sly way of doing these things, even if, like a spinster I once knew, they have to ask a man flatly whether his intentions are serious or not; and they are very apt to do this as soon as the kissing becomes a business on your part. But to return to the modus operandi of a kiss. Delicacy in this intellectual amuse ment is the chief thing. Do n’t—by the bones of Johannes Secundus ! don’t bun gle the matter by a five minutes torture, like a cat playing with a mouse. Kiss a girl deliberately, sir, sensible all the time of the great duty you are pei-forming,. but re member also that a kiss, to be enjoyed in its full flavor, should be taken fresh, like cham pagne just from the flask. Ah! then you get it in all its airy and spirituelle raciness. If you wish a sentimental kiss, and after all they are perhaps the spicier, steal your arm around her waist, take her hand softly in your own, and then tenderly drawing her towards you, kiss her as you might imagine a zephyr to do it! I never exactly timed the manoeuvre with a stop-watch, but I’ve no doubt the affair might be managed very handsomely in ten seconds. The exact point where a lady should be kissed may be determined by the intersection of two ima ginary lines, one drawn perpendicularly down the centre of the face, and the other passing at right angles through the line of the mouth. Two such old codgers as you and I may talk of these things without in discretion ; and, it is but doing our duty by the world, to give others the benefits of our experience. Some of these days, when I get leisure, Ishall write a book called “Kiss ing Made Easy.” The title—don’t you think ?—will make it sell. Kissing, however has its evils, for the world, you know, is made up of sweet and sour. One often gets info the way of kiss ing a pretty girl by way of a flirtation, and ends by tumbling herad over ears into love with her. This is taking the disease in its most virulent form ; but, thank the stars ! it is most apt to attend on cases where the gentleman has not been used to kissing. 1 would recommend, as a general rule, that every one should be inoculated to the mat ter, for, depend upon it, this is the only way to save them from a desperate and perhaps fatal attack. I once knew ,a fine fellow— talented, rich, in a profession, whose only fault, indeed, was that he had never kissed anybody but his sister. He had the most holy horror of a man who could so insult the dignity of the sex as to kiss a lady, and, I ve rily believe, the sight of such a thing, in his younger days, would have thrown him into a fit. At length he fell in love; and as sweet a creature was Blanche Meirion as ever trod greensward, or sang from very gaiety of heart oil the morning air. Day after day her lover watched her from afar, as a worshipper would watch the counten ance of a saint; but months passed by and still he dared not lift his eyes to her face, when her own were shining on him from their calm, holy depths. Other suitors appeared, and if Blanche had fancied them, she would have been lost forever to How ard, through his own timidity ; but happily none of them touched her heart, and she went on her way “in maiden meditation fancy free.” Often, in her own gay style of raillery, would she torment pool Howard about iiis bashfulness ; and during these moments, I verily believe, he would gladly have exchanged his situation for that of any heretic that ever roasted in an inquisitorial fire. A twelvemonth passed by, and yet Howard could not muster courage to ex press his devotion, and if perchance, his eyes sometimes revealed his tale, the con fession faded from them as soon as the liquid ones of Blanche were turned upon him. If ever one suffered he suffered from his love. He worshipped his divinity in awe-stiuck humility, scarcely deeming she would deign to see his adoration. He might have said with Helena, “ thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more.” At length a friend of Howard asked him to wait on him as a groomsman, and who should be his partner but Blanche ! Now', of all places for kissing commend me to a wed ding. The groom kisses the bride—and the groomsmen kisses the bridemaids—and each one of the company kisses his partner, or if any one is destitute of the article he makes a dumb show of kissing somebody behind the door. But the groomsmen have the cream of the business, for jt’s one of the perquisites of their office that they should kiss their partners, as a sort of re compense for shawling them, and chaperon ing them, aud paying those thousand little attentions which are so exquisite to a lady, and which a gentleman can only pay, espe cially if the lady is grateful, at some peril to his peace of mind. Ah! sir, a bridemaid is a bachelor’s worst foe-—one plays with edge tools when he waits at a wedding, and though you may dance with an angel or flirt with a Hour!, I’d never, heaven bless you, recommend you to wait on a girl unless you were ready to marry. Seeing other folks married is infectious, and, before you mSBSSSmSmBSBSSmSSSBSSaBSm—Ifc— know it, you’ll find yourself engaged. It was a lucky chance for Howard when he was asked to wait on Blanche, for I would stake my life that nothing else could have cured him of his bashfulness. Nor even then would he have succeeded but for an ac cident, One lovely afternoon—it was a coulfHy wedding—he happened to pass by a little sort of summer house in a secluded spot in the grounds attached to the mansion, and who should he see within but Blanche, asleep on a garden sofa. I wish I could paint her to you as she then appeared. One arm was thrown negligently back over her head, while the other fell towards the floor, holding the book she had been reading. Her long, soft eye-lashes were drooped on her cheek. Her golden curls fell, like a show er of sunbeams scattered through the forest leaves on a secluded stream, around her brow and down her neck; and one fair tress, stealing across her face and nestling in her bosom, waved in her breath, and rose and fell with the gentle heaving of that spotless bust. A slight color was on her cheek, and her lips were parted in a smile the smallest space imaginable, disclosing the pure teeth beneath, seeming like a line of pearl set betwixt rubies, or a speck of snow within a budding rose. Howard would have retreat ed, but he could not, and so he stood .gaz ing on her entranced, until, forgetting every thing in that sight, he stole towards her, and falling on his knees, hung a moment enrap tured over her. As he thus knelt, his eyes glanced an instant on the book. It was the poems of Campbell, and open at the pas sage which he had the evening before com mended. Blanche had pencilled one verse which he bad declared especially beautiful. His heart leapt* into his mouth. His eyes stole again to that lovely countenance, and indistinctly he bent down and pressed his lips softly to those of Banche. Slight, how ever, as was the kiss, it broke her slumber, and she started up; but when her eyes met those of Howard the crimson blood rushed over her face, and down even to her bosom, while the lover stood, even more abashed, rooted to the spot. Poor fellow ! he would have given the world if he could have recalled that moment’s indiscretion. He stammered out something for an apology, he knew not what, yet without daring to lift his eyes t her face. She made no reply. A minute of silence passed. Could he have offended past forgiveness 1 He was desper ate with igony and terror at the thought, and, in that very desperation, resolved to face the worst, and looked up. The bosom of Blanche heaved violently, her eyes were downcast,her cheek was changing fronl pale to red and from red to pale. All her usual gaiety had disappeared and she stood em barrassed and confused, yet without any marks of displeasure, such as the lover had looked for, on her countenance. A sudden light flashed on him, a sudden boldness took possession of him. He lifted the hand of Blanche—that tiny hand which now trem bled in his grasp, and said, “Blanche! dear Blanche ! if you forgive me, be still more merciful, and'give me a right to offend thus again. I love vou, oh ! how deeply and fervently! I have loved you with an untiring devotion for years. Will you, dearest, be mine 1” and in a torrent oft burning eloquence—for the long pent-up emotions of years, had now found vent—he poured forth the whole history of his love, its doubts and fears, its sensitiveness, its ado ration, its final hope. And did Blanche turn away ! No—you need n’t smile so meaning ly, you old villain—she sank sobbing on her lover’s shoulder, who, when at length she was soothed, was as good as his word, and sinned by a second kiss. It turned out that Blanche had loved him all along, and it was only his bashfulness that had blinded him, else by a thousand little tokens he might have seen what, in other ways, it would have been unmaidenly for her to rereal. Now, sir, months of mutual sorrow might have been saved to both Blanche and her lover, if he had only possessed a little more assur ance—he would have possessed that assur ance if he had been less finical—if he had been less finical be would not have been shocked at kissing a pretty girl. I might'multiply instances, egad, for fifty years of experience will store one’s memo ry with facts, and by the aid of them I could reel off arguments for this accomplishment faster than a rocket whiazes into the sky. Kissing, sir—but there goes the supper bell, and I see your meerscluum’s out. We will rejoin the ladies, and after taking our Mocha, set the young folks to dancings while you and I accompany then on the shovel and tongs! Ta-ra-la-ra ! The passions aid affectionslead to numer ous sources of en’or. Love induces a moth er to think child the fairest and the best. Intens* hope and desire make a few days a< long os so many weeks. The fear of the torture, of the galleys, or of painful death,has induced multitudes to believe the grossest absurdities. Envy misrepresents the con ition and character of our neighbor, and ma es us believe that he is much worse than he eally is. Above all, self-interest induce! nany to swallow almost any opini on, and vindicate every practice, howev er corr pt and absurd. It is from a spirit of selfi mess, too, that we set up our own opinioi in religion philosophy as the test of rthodoxy and truth; and from the same p inciple has arisen the anti-Christian practic of persecution. MANAGING A HUSBAND! This is a branch of female education tdo much neglected; it ought to be taught with “ French, Italian, and the use of the globes.” To be sure, as Mrs. Glass most sensibly ob serves, “ first cateh your hare,” and you must also first catch your husband. But we will suppose hiraJcaught—and therefore to be roasted, boiflß, stewed, or jugged. All these methods of cooking have their matri monial prototypes. The roasted husband is done to death by the fiery temper, the boil ed husband dissolves in the warm water of conjugal tears, the stewed husband becomes ductile by the application of worry, and the jugged husband fairly subdued by sauce and spice. Women have all a natural genius for having their own way; still the finest talents, like “the finest pisantry in the world,” require cultivation. We recom mend beginning soon. When Sir William L—— was setting off on his wedding excursion, while the bride was subsiding from the pellucid lightness of white satin and blonde, into the delicate darkness of the lilac silk travelling dress, the lady’s-maid rushed into his presence with a torrent, not of tears, but of words. His favorite French valet had put out all the bandboxes that had been previously stored with all feminine ingenuity in the carriage. Os course, on the happiest day of his life, Sir William could not “hint a fault or hesi tate dislike,” aud he therefore ordered the interesting exiles to be replaced. “ Ver veil, Sare William,” said the prophetic gentle man’s gentleman, “you let yourself be band boxed now, you’ll be bandboxed all your life.” 3 Ihe prediction of the masculine Cassan dra of the cutling-irons was amply fulfilled. Poor Sir William! One of his guests, a gentleman whose wits might have belonged to a Leeds clothier, for they were always wool-gathering, confounded the bridal with one of those annual festivals when people cruelly give you joy of having made one step more to your grave—this said guest, at his wedding, literally wished him many hap-, py returns of the day! The|politc admirer of the bandboxes found, however, one an niversary quite sufficient, without any re turns. Now, we do consider it somewhat hard “to drag at each remove” such a very per ceptible chain; it might as well have been wreathed, or gilded, or even pinchbccked. A friend of mine, Mrs. Francis Seymour, does the thing much better. We shall give a domestic dialogue in Curzon-street, by way of example to the rising generation. “ I have been at Doubiggin’s this morning, my love,” said Mrs. Seymour, while helping the soup; “he has two such lovely Sevre tables, portraits of Louis the Fourteenth’s beauties; you must let me have them for the drawing-room, they are such loves.” “I really do wonder,” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, in his most decided tone, “what can you want with any thing more in the drawing-room. lam sure that it is as much as any one can do to get across the room as it is. I will have no more money spent on such trash.” “ This fish'is capital, the sauce is a ‘chef d'oeuvre,” exclaimed the lady, hastening to change the discourse; “do let me recom mend it.” Dinner proceeds, enlivened by a little series of delicate attentions on the part of the wife. One thing is advised; another, which she is well aware is her husband’s aversion, playfully forbidden, with a “my dear Francis, you are so careless of yourself —consider les horreurs dela digestion.” Dinner declines into desert, and Mr. Sey mour eats his walnuts, peeled “ By no hand, as you may guess, But that of Fairy Fair,” alias Mrs. Seymour’s very pretty fingers- Towards the middle of his second glass of port, he perceives that there are tears in his wife’s soft blue eyes—which become actual sobs as he progresses in the third glass. “1 see how it is, Laura; well, you shall have the tables.” “ The tables!” cried the lady, with an air, as the school-boy said of ancient Gaul, quar tered into three halves, of disdain, wounded feelings, and tenderness; “I have really lost all wish for them. It was of you, Francis that I was thinking. Good heavens! can you weigh a few paltry pounds against the pleasure of gratifying your wife. I see I have lost my hold on your affections. What have I done! I, whose whole life has but one happiness, that of pleasing you!” We will not pursue the subject to its last conjugal close of tears aud kisses; suffice it to say, that the next day the tables were sent home; not given-—but only accepted as a favor! Now this is a beautiful way of doing business. We seriously recommend its con sideration as a study to our lady readers.— Scolding does much, for, as the old riddle say, “ any thing,” is what “Many a man, who ha* a wife, Submits to for a quiet life.” But the fair half of the world, out of whose very remains the rose, as the eastern pro verb has it, was formed at the creation flattery, that honey of the heart, is the true sway. Instead of divide, our new state se cret is, “flatter to reign.” “A man may lend his store Os gold and silver ore, But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend.” VOLUME I. -NUMBER 9. To Parents. —The right education of your children is dearer to you than any earthly object: for a good education isrwtej young man’s capital. To educate yob#'’ children well is to give them a fair start in the world—it is to give them ah equal chance for tbd privileges and honors of man* hood. . But, to keep them from school the most of the time—to furnish them with a misera ble, useless teacher—to deny them the ne cessary and the most approved school books —to be unwilling to spend a little to pro cure papers and books for general informa* tion and reading-—to do these things, or eith er one of these, is to do your children an incalculable injury. You wish your children to be companions of the virtuous and intelligent—then make them virtuous and intelligent; unless you do this, your children will be unfit for such society as you wish them to keep. Yotl wish your offspring respected and influential —morality and intellect are always respect ed, and these qualities are always influential* too. You do not wish others to trample up on the rights of your children—you do not wish others to lead them, to think for them, or to make them mere tools for ambitious ends. Then give them an education, a mind, that they may know and keep their rights—that they may make for themselves, and have the privileges of freemen. Igno rance is always the vassal, the slave of in telligence. The educated man always has had, and always will have, the advantage of ignorance; and if you let your children grow up uneducated, you let them grow up to be the tools and the slaves of others. You cannot do your children a greater injury than to let them step into manhood unedu cated ; and in no other way can you do these free institutions a greater evil. Mother. —There is something in that Word —mother, that sounds a pause in the busy pursuits of life—nay, in the current of or dinary thought. There is a calm about it that divests of every selfish, every sordid feeling—it strikes|the sweetest string of the sympathies of our nature ; it brings up the remembrance, the peacefulness, the sunty days of our earthly life, and with them all their vision of prospective honor, and fame, and happiness. No time—no distance—no vicissitudes of life can change that deep, that holy veneration, we early imbibe for her who gave us existence. It is not the first principle that germinates in the bosom of infancy ; it is, as it were the guardian spirit of youth and even maturer years; it is the act that quits the human heart when aban doned to vice—when it becomes an outlaw to its God. If our footsteps have been di rected in the paths of virtue—if success has rewanded our exertions in the pursuits of a virtuous ambition—if we ride joyously up on the waves of affluence and glory; a “moth er's voice” mingles, and gladdens, and crowns the felicity, if overtaken by the storms of adversity ; every hope blighted by chilling disappointment; betrayed by • the teachery friendship, the hypocracy of the world; abandoned to penury, sorrow ‘and disease* then, even then, there is one that will not desert us ; there is yet one safe, quiet asy lum left us; home, the home of our child hood, a “ mother's home !” it is a green spot in the great Zahara of life; it is the peace ful harbor, where we may find shelter from the tempest of the ever changeful ocean of human existence. Mother! In the sound of that sacred name, the monarch himself forgets his diadem, and feels that he is -a child ; the wretch who is doomed to mi serable existence in a dungeon, or to a one for crime upon the scaffold, whose atrocities long since have sealed up the fountain of his sympathies, tell him of the bitter anguish of a “ mother,” and, though the apostate to his Maker, he trembles and kneels in peniten tial sorrow; the tear, that stranger to vice, trickles silently down the brawny cheek, wrinkled by time, and care, and guilt. Such is the tribute, the involuntary ho mage of onr hearts towards our mothers. The principle, the controlling power of this veneration, although almost imperceptible, is still incalculable. “Where is the man, whatever may be his age, his wisdom, bis condition of life, that would utterly disre gard the counsels of his mother? Where is the wretch however lost to virtue, however abandoned to iniquity, who would dare to raise his hand in crime, should he hear the maternal injunction, “ forbear!” Home. —No man of sensibility, after bat tling with the perplexities of the out door world, but retires with a feeling of refresh ment to his happy fireside; he hears with joy the lisp of the cherub urchin that climbs upon his knee, to tell him some wonderful tale about nothing, or feels with delight the soft breath of some young daughter, whose downy peach like cheek is glowing close to his win lam ne".her a husband nor a fath er, but I can easily fancy the feeling of su preme pleasure which either must experi ence. Let us survey the World of business! “ What go we out to see ?” the reed of am bition shaken by the breath of the multi tude ; cold hearted traders and brokets, trafficers and over-ieachers, anxious each to circumvent, and turn to his purse the golden tide in which all would dabble. Look ( the homes of most of these. Thera the wife waits for her husband; and while she feels that anxiety for his presence, which may be called the hunger of the heart* she