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VOLUME ii. | m iramUfi : ©cfcotcfc to ftUtraturc, atertcultuvc, J&ecnautcie, Education, jFotriflu au3 Domestic XiUellffieuce, scc. j number 21.
BY 0. R. HANLEITER.
PiQIiTRY,
THE ORIGIN OK THE SIMPLE.
BY A. A. LOCKE.
‘Oiir day as Love’s queen was on Ida reclining,
Where thefount and the vine woo'd the wild zephyr's
kiss,
She dreamed of Na reissue, his dark locks entwining
Around his fair face, blushing beauty and bliss.
Soon Cupid espied her so sweetly reposing,—
Why slcep'st thou, my mother, ‘tis Cupid, oh speak!
Bright Phoebus is set, and night’s curtains are closing,
Awake!”—and his fingor imprinted her cheek.
“ Befiis it a goddess, so fair and enchanting,
On Earth’s low ly couch among mortals to rest ?
The moon curbs her steeds, for thy Star is yet wanting,
And Vesper awaits thee to shine in the west.”
As soft as the peach down it sunk to his finger,
And kept like that fruit its impression awhile,
Unwilling to part, yet forbidden to linger,
It fled with her frown, and returned with her smile
And thus, as ‘tissaid,a sweet dimple enhances
The cheeks of our maidens, so gracefully fair,
Adds charms to their smiles, and fresh fire to their glan
ces,
And shows the young god ha3 been revelling there.
-©E IL I©T lE> T^ILiESo
MADEMOISELLE DELAFAILLE.
******
The death of a wife whom he tenderly
loved had overwhelmed the President de
Boissieux with a sorrow that denied consola
tion. At every anniversary of his bereave
ment, he went alone and in deep mourning
to the cemetary to kneel upon the stone
that he fondly supposed covered the remains
of a spouse whom he worshipped. His pray
ers to his Maker were that he might be speed
ily re-united to her in another world, whom
lie would no more see in this.
■'Five years after the death of Mine, de
iiuissieux, her husband went according to
the form that he had prescribed for himself,
to weep over her ashes. lie had been about
an hour absmbed in prayer, when the sound
of upproaching footsteps caused him to raise
his head, and lie recognized Clementina—
yes, her for whom unavailing tears were yet
undried upon the cheek, the woman for
whose soul’s repose he hud worn out heaven
with prayers, his wife escorted by and lean
ing on the arm of a stranger. He sprang
up and extended his arms,
•• Clementina, it is thou,” he cried, “re
stored to those longing arms by the miracu
lous, especial interposition of God !”
The lady, who at first had not noticed him
on his knees, uttered a piercing cry, and
lied. M. do Boissieux followed, resolved to
overtake her, but was only in time to see
her spring into a coach with four horses, and
they were instantly lashed into a gallop.
Out of bieath, moved by an irrepressible
feeling, M. do Boissieux run to the dwelling
of the gtave-digger, and begged him to ex
plain what he had seen—to tell what he knew
of the burial of Mde. de Boissieux.
“I would willingly resolve you,” replied
the roan of pick and shovel, “ but I have on
ly been employed here four years and a
half. It was llenegold who interred the
lady.”
•• What has become of Itencgold 1”
“He has fallen into an inheiitance, and 1
gone toNoimandy with his family.”
” Five yeais ago f”
•• Five years to a day.”
“ Well,” continued M. de Boissieux, “have ;
you never seen a young and beautiful wo
plan, and richly dressed, about the grave of
she deceased lady V
“Never, sir, hut three or four days ago,
0 mulatto servant cante to me to know the
precise spot where the lady was buried.
“ Was that all she asked you V
“ All, sir.”
“ Well,” replied M. de Boissieux, putting
some silver into his htnd, “ pay particular
attention to that grave, and if any thing ex- j
traordinary happens, inform the lieutenant
of police of it. I will see you again.”
Leaving the grave digger’s hut, M. de
Boissieux repaired to the presence of the;
Count d’ Argenson, the licutenaritof police,
told him what he had seen, and made no se
cret of,the suspicions awakened in his mind
by the sudden disappearance of the grave
digger, and his unlooked for inheritance,
“ Very romantic, indeed,” said D’Argcn
eon, “it appears to me s hat the exlraoidi
i,aiy resemblance between the lady you sa w
in the grave yard and your deceased wife,
-i ; imagination,
as the phantom 0iauw....... _
Nevertheless, wo can’t be too sure, t"u l
will immediately give orders and find out
the lady’s name. 1 will also send an agent
immediately to Normandy, to examine the
grave-digger.”
“ Will you not first,” said M.deßoissieux,
order the grave to be opened and examin
ed upon my requisition V
Next day the lieutenant of police, accom
panied by De Boissieux, two physicians,
{wo counsellors, and a high functionary of
the police, opened the grave in the church
yard of St. Germau des Pres, and found the
coffin broken and empty.
Three days afterwards, the lieutenant of
the police wrote to M. de Boissieux as fob
“ The lady seen by the President de Bois
sieux in the churchyard on the fourteenth of
October, is Madame de Garan, the wife of
M de Garan, a major in tho artillety regb
meat of Lafere; their marriage was con
tracted at Pondicherry, where Madame de
Garan was born, and they arrived in France
only a month ago. The agent sent to Nor
mandy had no difficulty in finding the fami
ly of the grave-digger. Renegold has been
dead three years; hut it appears fmtn the
testimony of his wife and children, that no
legacy has fallen to his share, yet that lie
came to Vire with ten thousand livres.—
These facts, which are all 1 have been able
to obtain, seem to warrant the belief that the
body of Madame Boissieux had been taken
away.”
The President then informed the lieuten
ant of the intimate connexion that existed
between the families of l)e Garan and his
deceased wife, oftheir betrothal, the causes
which had prevented ils consummation, and
the difficulty he bad in winning the lady’s
hand, till the reputed death of Major de Ga
ran. He begged M. d’Argenson to spare
no pains in tracing every movement of the
parties—not doubting, be said, that the lady
was bis own wife, whom he resolved to re
claim. The preliminary measures having
been taken, the President entered a regular
complaint against De Garan,demanding that
notwithstanding the second marriage of his
wife, she should be required to resume her
station in his family. At the same time he
used the utmost diligence in collecting evi
dence beating upon the fact. From the Min
ister of War be learned the very dav of the
arrival of Garan at Paris—a day* remarkable
for liis immediate departure from that place,
after having witnessed the obsequies of Ma
dame de Boissieux. He soon discovered
the postillions who drove him from Paris to
Brest in company with a sick lady wearing
a veil. He also learned that they bad taken
passage in a merchant ship called the “Fair
Margaret,” though his duty was to have em
barked on a national vessel—and procured
her log-book. With this evidence he en
tered into a legal process, I lie issue of which
did not appear to him in the least doubtful.
The nature and novelty of this case, the
difficulty which obstructed its progress, the
mystery in which it seemed shrouded, and,
above all, the high tank of the parties con
cerned, excited an unwonted curiosity. All
Paris rang with the wildest rumors, the most
absurd commentaries, and the most mali
cious insinuations, alike at the cost of the
husband, who sought to regain his defunct
wife, and the man who maiutainec his right
to what he had taken from the grave. The
hall of Parliament was crowded by a sensi
tive audience, dazzled by the extraordinary
beauty of Madame de Garun, audibly pray
ing for her deliverance from an infernal con
spiracy. Mr. Pelafaiile, who hud been deep
ly afflicted by his daughter’s icluctance to
the match he bad made for her, had retired
to Toulouse immediately after her death,
which he reproached himself with having
hastened. lie now came post-haste to Pa
ris, and had an interview with Madame de
Garan, to whom he extended his arms, weep
ing. The young lady betrayed no emotion:
sho only evinced a respectful astonishment;
and without the motion of a muscle, declar
ed to those who accompanied her would-be
father, that she had never seen the person
before her, and that her only wonder was at
such unexpected impertinence; she repeat
ed this declaration, repelled ihe claims of
Madame de Boissieux with calmness and
dignity, and gave a short history of her life,
which she supported with documentary ev
idence*. She left no doubt of the autlientic
ily of the document drawn up by her coun
sel, M. de Maizais. She was the child of
ihe Siene de Marval and Mile. Fitchette,
born in Pondicherry, and had been three
yeais before in the Iving’s Chapel, in the
presence of the highest functionaries of the
colony, civil and military.
The register of her birth was found cor
rect, as well as her marriage ceitificute, with
all the legal formalities.
The pair had returned to France in a na
tional vessel. There was no reason to be
lieve that a man of honor, and a soldier of
high rank, as M. de Garun had proved him
self, would turn justice into a farce ; and it
was equally incredible that a young man and
virtuous woman would maintain an imposi
tion with such audacious tenacity. De Mai
zais,one of the most distinguished advocates
in the kingdom, dwelt eloquently upon this
text, and made such an impression upon the
audience, and even upon the bench, that
what had been doubt become assured con
viction, It was in vain that the President
de Boissieux and his no less eloquent coun
sel called for precise details—insisted upon
indubitable evidence and irrefragable coin
cidences—in vain that they proved that de
Garan had arrived in Paris on the very day
of the lady’s burial—had left the city the
same night, without bidding farewell to his
mother, or asking her blessing, though there
was strong probability of his never seeing
her again—in vain that they showed that he
took a by-road to Brest, in a haste that would
set fire to the axle-trees —that he took with
him a veiled lady in a state of insensibility,
and that he took passage with her, under an
assumed name, in a merchant ship, in con
tempt of his rank and duty. M. de Boissieux
brought forth the testimony of the most em
inent of the faculty respecting many cases
where lethargy bad continued several days
with every appearance of death : but all his
rhetoric —all his logic—was nothing to the
cool serenity of the young bride of M. de
Garan. Seated behind her counsel, sur
rounded ly her husband’s relations, she
seemed confident in human and divine jus
tice.
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 19, 1543.
i mHsEi&f -’ x , ,\’\ly<.'ji/SM
fe-;-.. - ~ ; ..3*tL’ ,Bfegy 3/ _ ‘'vf^ s W‘ ‘T
Among the most curious and interesting
peculiarities of the American Indians, is
their methods of disposing of their dead.—
The modes are different in different nibes,
varying according to their religious notions,
accidental caprice, or their attachment to
the person of the deceased. Among the
Esquimaux the corpse is deposited, with the
head to the westward, in a sort of coffin
formed of loose planks, and placed upon a
platform of driftwood, w hich is sometimes
raised to the height of two feet. A hive
shaped covering, made of spars or drift wood
put together closely, is erected over this to
secure the body from the depredations of
wild beasts ; it gives way however finally to
the rapacity of foxes and wolves. The body
is generally dressed in a frock made of ei
der-duck skins, and coveied with bides of
deer. Sometimes the coffin and planks are
omitted, and the corpse then rests simply on
the drill wood. Among some of tbe tribes
of tbe United States, tbe dead are bur ini
several feet under ground, with their dress
es and all their implements of war und bunt
ing by their side. These things are thrown
into the grave in the belief that tbe deceas
ed will have use for them in the hunting
grounds of the other world. Ollier tribes
place them in the earth in an erect posture,
all accoutred and prepaied for immediate
action, which they think will be necessary,
At first, the bench, though undecided,
manifested a strange interest for so young
and fair a woman, horn in a foreign land,
who, trusting in lier husband’s love and pro
tection, hud followed his fortune, and had
only set foot on an inhospitable shore, to be
dragged to the bar of justice, to L>e deprived
of the titles of wife, mother and daughter.
1 rider the influence of these feelings, after
the impartial minister of the law, the judge,
had delivered his decision that the claims of
the President de Boissieux were unfound
ed, and that, he should make reparation to
Major de Garan and liis w ife for his attack
upon their honor, and the expense to which
they had been put; and when the other mag
istrates were about to deliver their accordant
opinions, an unforeseen but decisive inci
dent put another face upon the whole pro
ceeding. While the attorney for the Gov
ernment was speaking, tire President de
Boissieux had left the court, and repaired to
liis own dwelling, w-liete the first consolation
was the embrace of a little daughter six
years old, who also bore the name of Clem
entina, and who was a little over a year old
when she lost her mother. A spai kof hope
was kindled in the bosom of the bereaved
magistrate; be folded tbe child in his man
tle, and returned with her to court.
The court bad just risen to retire to the
chambers of deliberation, w hen M.de Bois
sieux made a signal for a moment’s delay,
and directed bis steps towards Madame de
Garan and her friends. M. de Maizais was
too much engaged in arranging tbe folios of
bis plea to pay any attention, while Madame
de Garan appeared absorbed in sad reflec
tions, supporting her head upon bet band.
At this moment the little daughter of the
President de Boissieux took her by the baud,
and holding up her rosy lips, exclaimed—
“ Mother, won’t you kiss me ?”
Instinctively moved, and scarce knowing
what she did, the countenance of Madame
do Garun lighted. She strained the infant
to her bosom, covered it with kisses and
tears, exclaiming—
” Clementina, my child !”
Though Madame de Garun's counsel felt
the rampart be bad built crumble under him,
be did not abandon the ruins. He vindica
ted lieu in her owh eyes and in those of tbe
judges ; lie painted a pathetic picture of her
sufferings, her resignation, her pious sub
mission to her father; be showed how she
had been miraculously rescued from the
jaws of death, and had fled from France to
give life to the man to whom she owed it.
In conclusion, lie prayed the court to annul
a marriage that death had broken off', and to
reject the pretensions of a husband who
came to reclaim a wife lie bad not known
bow to keep.
Such a decision was, of course, out of the
question. The marriage of Madame de Ga
ran at Pondicherry was pronounced null und
void ; and she was ordered to return to the
house oflier lawful husband. On the same
day the lady, who had regained her own
AM UNBOAKI ©59 0 L ffi ’ 3 ®§AWE.
soon as the deceased reach the countiy of
souls. Among the Cliippeways, one mode
of burying the dead, is, to place the coffin,
o box containing their remains on two cross
pieces nailed or tied with wattap to four
poles, as is designed to he represented by
the above engraving. The poles are some
times ten feet liiuh. They plant near these
poles, the wild hop, or some other kind of
tunning vine which spreads over and covers
the coffin, ‘l’lie reason they give for thus
disposing of their dead, is, that they dislike
to hasten them out of sight by putting them
under ground. That it is a comfort to them
to see the box that contains tbe remains of
their departed friends.
Tbe Chippeways declare, that all Indians
when they die, go to a large village, towards
the setting sun, that lias no end to it—Jce
byug-aindiihourkee-ewaud, or the country
of souls. Some say they get there directly
—otlicis have to encamp several nights by
the wav before they leach it. The Great
Spirit, however, according to their belief,
does not five in this great village, but he
live* in the sky. These notions of tbe untu
tored Indian, evidence the universality of
Religion; and if men’s feelings were not
sufficient they prove that the human mind
is as prune to religion, as spaiks ore to fly
upward.
name, but would not, nevertheless, relin- j
quish that of do Garan, implored permission !
of the King to retire to the Carmelite con- i
vent, or any other lie might select. The re
quest was inadmissible : and she was diiect
ed to conform to the sentence of the Pal lia- 1
ment within twenty-four hours.
******
At six o’clock that evening, Madame de
Boissieux was announced to her husband, j
liis friends and relations, whom he had as- !
scmbled to receive her.
She came alone, scrupulously attired in
white, DVd wearing her richest jewels. Her
husband eagerly rose to receive her. She I
waved him back. “Sii,” said she, in a tone \
of calm resignation, “take back what you I
have lost !” and she fell dead at his feet.
That evening M. de Garan, who had also
poisoned himself, breathed his last in liis
mother's arms.
Thrilling Incident. — 1 passed up the nat
urnl avenue and came upon the green. My
feelings were very poetical asl walked slow
ly towards the village qfmrcli. 1 entered.
A popular preacher was bolding forth and
ihe little meeting house was much crowded.
Several persons were standing up, and 1
soon discovered that I must retain my per
pendicular position, as every seat was ciowd
ed. 1 however passed up the aisle until 1
gained a position where 1 could have a fair
view of the faces of nearly all present. —
Many of the congregation looked curiously
at me, for 1 was a stranger to them all. In
a few moments however, the attention of
every poison appeared to he absorbed in the
ambassador of grace, and I also began to
take an interest in the discourse. The
speaking was fluent, and many of liis flights
were even sublime. The music of the wood
and the fragrance of the heath seemed to
respond to his eloquence. Then it was no
great stretch of the imagination to fancy
that the white banded creatures around me,
with their pouting lips and artless innocence
were beings of a higher sphere. While my
feelings were thus divided between the
beauties and blessings of the two worlds,
and wrapt in a sort of poetical devotion, 1
detected some glaucA at me of a most ani
mated character. I need not describe the
sensations experienced by a youth when the
eye of a beautiful woman rests for a length
of time upon liis countenance, and when he
imagines himself to he an object of interest
to her. I returned her glances with inter
est, and threw all the tenderness into my
eyes which the scene, my meditation, and
the preacher’s discourse had inspired in my
heart, doubting not that the fair young dam
sel possessed kindred feelings with myself
—that we were drinking together nt the
fountain of inspiration. How could it he
otliei w ise 1
Site had been born and nurtured amid
these wild and romantic scenes, and was
made up of romance, of poetry and tendSV
ness; and then I thought of the purity of
woman’s love—her devotion—her truth. I
only prayed that I might meet with her
where we could enjoy a sweet exchange of
of sentiment. Her glances continued.—
Several times our eyes met. My heart ached
with rapture. At length benediction was
pronounced. I lingered about the premi
ses until I saw the dark-eyed damsel set out
for home, alone and on foot. Oh! that the
customs of society would permit! for we
are surely one in soul. Cruel foimality !
that throws up a barrier between hearts
made for each other ! Yet I followed after
her. She looked behind, and 1 thought she
evinced some emotion recognising me as the
stranger of the day. I quickened my pace,
and she actually slackened hers, as if to let
me come up with her.
‘• Noble young creature !” thought I.—
“ Her artless and warm heart is superior to
the shackles of customs.”
I at length came within a stone's throw of
her. She suddenly halted, and turned her
face toward me. My heait swelled to burst
ing. I reached the spot where she stood.—
She begun to speak, and I took off my hat,
as if doing reverence to an angel.
“ Are you a pedlar 1 !”
“No my dear girl, that is not my occu
pation.”
“ Well, I don’t know,” continued she, not
very bashfully, and eyeing me very sternly
—“ I thought when 1 saw you in the meet
ing house that you looked like the pedlar
who passed off a pew ter half-dollar on me
about three weeks ago. and so I determined
to keep an eye you. Brother John has got
home now, and lie says that if lie catches the
feller lie’ll wring his neck for him ; and I
uiut sure but you’re the good-for-nothing
rascal after all.”
Reader, did you ever take a shower bath?
Qy* We feel that we could not render a
more essential service to our fair readers,
or pay u better compliment to thuir taste,
than by inserting in tlieir department tbe
following extracts from the concluding por
tion us Hon. Edmund Dillabunty’s Address,
dtliicivil at tbe dose of the Examination
of the Female Institute at Columbia, Ten
nessee, June 30, 1S13:
“ You must remember, my young friends,
that tbe places that are now filled, and tbe
relations that are now sustained by your
seniors will, in a few years, devolve upon
you. You ought to feel gratitude to your
iriendsand teachers, for your removal from
care and the privations that thousands suf
fer, and use well the means that have been
provided for your preparation to meet the
responsibilities of coming life. Health is
so common a blessing of youth that it is too
frequently but little valued. It is, however,
easily lost, and when gone, it is difficult to
be tegaiiied. Your energy of character,
your efficiency and intellectual activity, your
own enjoyments, and your hopes of doing
good to others, all depend on ils preserva
tion. Disease and pain, arid joy and hap
piness, cannot inhabit the same dwelling.—
All irregularities in the disposition of time,
all improper exposures, enervating indo
lence, that waste the powers of the nervous
system ; in a word, every thing that tends
to check the growth of the body or the vi
gor ol the constitution, should lie resolute
ly shunned by you as you prize personal
beauty, your own peace of mind, and the
happiness of others.
“ Nothing so soon disgusts a man of sense
and refinement, with even a pietty woman,
as carelessness ami slovenliness in diess.—
1 am no great admirer of present modes
and fashions. They arc but ill suited to the
embarrassments of the limes and not very
well adapted to our evercliauging climate.
But 1 am no reformer, no censor of woman’s
apparel. 1 make no decisions in sumptu
ary laws. I would advise you, however, to
study neatness in all things, to avoid extrav
agance, because if it gratifies your vanity
it may he the occasion of much trouble to
others, and never offer the costly sacrifice of
health to the evil genius of fashion, or suf
fer yourselves to practice any mode that the
proprieties of taste atulu delicate refinement
may condemn.
“ Cultivate n quiet temper and an habitu
al cheerfulness. 11l natiii eis a great blem
ish, even in the character of a mail, and is
wholly incongruous to the native mildness,
and inherent gentleness of your sex. A
brave and chivrdrous husband would prefer
tlie iage of battle to the storms of a wife’s
wrath. Avoid a moody melancholy. It is
a winter cloud filled with gloom and chill
itlg blasts. Cheerfulness is a vernal sun,
whose kindly rays hurst the buds and flow
ers of hone, and fi’l the air with the fi a
grance of enjoyment. “ With* persons of
desponding temperaments it is a common
opinion that tlieir fate is doomed to be dark,
that because a few cherished schemes have
been shattered, success is impossible, und
that for them, life has no pleasures, and la
bor no rewards.” They forgot that we
weave for ourselves the web called destiny;
in our own hearts in the spring of happiness,
in our own spirits, fie the mystery und the
power to make us what we would be.—
There are sorrows enough in the world.—
Our aim should be to reap from them expe
rience and warning, but not to despond be
cause tbe first visions of our youth wer© toq
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
wild to he fulfilled. The Soul is invigora
ted by the difficulties and purified by tbe
trials it meets and overcomes in tbe journey
of life.
“ Let sincerity mark your intercourse
with tlie world. Elegance of manners re
quires not the aid of duplicity. The love
and practice of truth, in simplicity and sim
pleness of heart are not only the source ot
all good, hut gives to human conduct its
true grace and dignity. True politeness,
is the result of good sense, and good nature,
and a knowledge of the artificial forma of
fife, —a happy union of the cheerful and
the moral, —a pleasant agreement of har
mony and affection. The usages of tbe
woild are often nothing more than a cold
calculation of vanity, a petty game of firms
in which every adventurer is subject to lose
much and gain nothing. Thoughtless fri
volity debases the mind by destroying the
tone of ils moral energies ; and practiced
smiles are often hut the gilded covering of
a dark and revolting perfidy. But while
you avoid the dissimulations of affability,
guard w'ith equal care against a fault-finding
and censorious temper. Under our present
social system, women have not only more
leisure than men, but they have fewer sub
jects of interest to engross their attention.
Tbe rules that regulate every household
are generally well established, and form but
seldom a subject of inquiry, and as fashion is
fickle, and rumor is inventive, and the
world is full of error, there is great danger
in conversation of taste taking upon itself
(beform of censure, of suspicion becoming
• lie open violation of propriety, and of con
jecture assuming the form of absolute facts.
Let your future life and conduct silence the
malevolent and put even calumny to shame,
in the charge, that a tendency to evil speak
ing, one of the hitler fruits of our corrupt
and fallen nature, is a distinguishing trait in
tin* character of your sex.
“Be satisfied with no half way learning.
Accuracy is as essential to the proper ele
vation and distinction of knowledge, as in
tegrity is to the just weight and diguity of
personal character. A little learning is in
deed a dangerous thing. Some of the grea
test outbieakers against our laws are those
who have obtained a sufficient acquaintance
with letters to believe themselves smart,
who have had the edge of their cunning
whetted without any improvement in the
temper of their principles. When the air
is pure and the sun is bright the more acute
is our vision, and the better our feelings*
hut when the air is misty and highly rarifi
ed, the more relaxed is our nervous system’
and the more liable are we to he deceived
by optical illusions. So,in the mental world
it often happens that he who sees but little,
sees wrong. You ought to endeavor to ac
quire information that may be useful to you*
w hatever your future circumstances in life
may be.
**#* • * •
“ The God of heaven has given bounds to
the sea and limits tothe whirlwind, but He
has never said to the human mind thus far
shall thou go in the advancement of knowl
edge and no faitlier, and here shall thy
proud waves he stayed. Unlike the com
mon things of earth, the mind does not
waste away by use, but each struggle with
the alluiements of folly and the obstruction
of ignorance servas only to add new vigor
to its powers and more extended boundaries
to its capabilities. Cultivate therefore ao
acquaintance not only with the exact scien
ces which give quickness to the operations
of the judgement, and force and stability to
the reasoning powers, hut extend your re
searches into all those branches of literature
winch refine and harmonise all the moral af
fections. With this training you will be
prepared for all thevicisitudes of life. Ad
versity will not overwhelm you, and pros
perity will not harden your hearts. With
resources of happiness within yourselves,
you will not be subject to be controlled by
the ficklo minds of prejudice or be driven
• o evil by the angry currents of passion.—
You may be the grateful instructor and de
lightful companion of man, and while you
do not “usurp authority over him,” you may
impress upon his mind the law of kindness
and show him the peace anti pleasantness
that are to be found in the paths of wisdom.
You may make home a sanctuary and tho
fireside an alter, and cause paradise, lost by
the fall, to hasten its return. You may aid
in rearing a cot rect standard of excellence,
in banishing ignorance and sorrow, impiety
and injustice, fraud and violence from tho
land, and in the exercise of this generous in
fluence, in the fulfillment of these high du
ties, you will meet the rewards of an ap
proving conscience, the esteem of the good
and the smiles of heaven, nud erect to the
glory and dignity of your sex a monument
more lasting thon brass, mote durable than
marble.”
Advice to TFtws.—There is not en hour
in a day which a man so much likes to see
his wife dressed with neatness, as when she
leaves her bedroom and sits down to break
fast. At any other moment vanity stimu
lates her efforts at the toilette, for she ex
pects to be seen—but at this retired and
eatly hour, it is for the sake of cleanliness,
for the sake of pleasing her husband. “A
woman should never appear untidily or
badly dressed in the presence of her boa.
band.” While lie was her lover, what
sad piece of business if be caught her dree*
sed to disadvantage ! “ Oh, dear, there kt