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Had the Captain been engaged in squeezing
the fat band of his fair companion ? We do not
know, but the deep blush which appeared upon <
Miss Patty’s face, with the abrupt folding of her
arms across her waist, seemed to countenance
the supposition, As to the Captain he mani
fested no sort of embarrassment —indeed this
was an emotion which the worthy had not ex
perienced for a very long period of time —and
greeted the young ladies with martial gallantry,
and chivalric homage.
Then turning to shake hands with Beausiro:
“Zounds! companion 1" he said “there is a
dangerous look in your eye.”
“ Dangerous, Captain ?’’
“Yes—you look as if you would like to eat
somebody, and that is a glorious mood to be in,
just at the present time.”
“ Ah! you mean to speak of the campaign?"
“ Certainly, my friend. What else is there to
speak of? I dream of this great, this enormous
campaign which his royal highness Braddock is
going to make. It’s the talk of the whole coun
try. The campaign this! the campaign that!
the campaign t'other 1 Such is the din about
it, and so busy does it keep us poor military
devils, that we have no time to think of any
thing else—no, not of our most private af
fairs!”
Here the Captain glanced at Miss Patty and
delivered a martial ogle, at the same time push
ing up, after an inveterate habit of his, his heavy
black moustache with his forefinger.
“To tell yer the truth, Beausire,” continued
Wagner “ I’m sick of war. I want a wife —for
without that gleam of joy upon our miserable
existence, we aro not worth salt! Yes, com
panion, Captain Julius Wagner is not ashamed to
confess that he wants a wife! It was only the
other day that I was saying to Lord Fairfax—
an old crony of mine, and as good a fellow as
ever walked the world—l was telling Fairfax
that it was necessary for me to bo married or I
would leave the servico—and I will. Zounds!
if I don’t I'll eat my head, or I’m n dandy!”
“■Well, why don’t you get a wife, Captain?”
said Will, laughiDg.
The Boldier looked melancholy.
“My young friend, ho said, “ that is easier
said than done. A wife 1 What is a wife? I
am told that Solomon says the wise man says it
is a very good thing, in which I fully agree with
him—but my experience also informs mo that
the good things of this world generally falls to
the lot of the dandies, tho sneaks, the poor, no
account lawyers, merchants, and that sort of
small fry. I don't mean to say anything against
these people—they have their uses, and even
the book-writing follows aro not entirely worth
less, for I intend to hire one of 'ear to writo the
life and advontures of Captain Julius Wagner.
But they are not to be mentioned on tho same
day with soldiers—and yet thoy get tho good
wives. My own opinion," said the Captain
with gloomy jealousy, “is that money makes the
difference.”
“Oh, Captain," said Isabel smiling, “that is
very unjust."
"Very,” echoed Miss Patty.
“ What, then, decides the fair sex, fcadam ?'*
asked the Captain. “Is it tho real worth of the
individual?"
“Yes indeed, sir.” (
“ I’m glad to hoar that, madam,” sald/the sol
dier more cheerfully, and with modest eoifl
dence; “it is n beautiful, a touching senfj
ment.”
“There is something else," said Will, laugh
ing slyly, “of more importance than all. ’
“And that is, friend Will —<- ?”
“ Perseverance, Captain.”
“I believe you!" cried Wagner, curling his
huge moustache; “ that sentiment does honor to
your intellect my young friend, and as 1 have
never yet failed in anything I'vo undertaken, I
don’t doubt that Mrs. Julius Wagner is some
whero waiting for mo. Is not thatyour opinion,
my dear madam?" he said to Miss Patty.
This being a homo thrust, Miss Patty be
trayed much confusion, uttered a sound which
resombled the monosyllable “laI” and declared
that “she supposed so—oh yes!” after which
she went off to prepare supper.
Major Stockton effected a diversion in her fa
vor by entering at tho moment, and greeting
tho Captain cordially.
In half an hour tho great supper table was
spread with a tompting array of edibles, and
tho manner in which Captain Wagner partook
of tho viands was indicative of a mind at easo,
confident of victory. Beausire could scarcely
swallow anything, for Major Stockton had said
a low minutes before:
“ General Braddock will be in Winchester the
day after to-morrow.”
XII.
I'BIDS AND rKDIGBEE
Wheu Captain Wagner had eaten as much as
would have satisfied three ordinary persons, he
leaned back in his chair with tho air of a man
who revels in the possession of a good con
science and an excellent digestion.
There was something about this worthy son
of Mars, rough as he was in costume and ap
pearance, which was very attractive. The broad
brow with its short dark hair, the huge black
moustache under which the lip curled with
scorn or humor, tho martial, straightforward
bearing, and the twinkling'of tho keen dark
eye, mado up a presence which possessed the
rude graces of the camp or the frontier.
Tho Captain was accustomed to say that never
having been afraid of anybody, or awed by any
great man’s society, he did not consider it ne
cessary to go cringing and simpering through
the world, with his liat oil' and his back bent—
that ho thought a man ought to hold up his
head and speak his mind if he felt like it, and
bo free. Carrying out which philosophy, his
gait was a long stride, his voice sonorous, liis
bearing decidedly independent.
The worthy had acliioved great success with
the fair sex—and any one who had seen his de
voted gallantry to tho fair Miss Patty who poured
out that great luxury on the frontier at the pe
riod, coffee, would have understood the secret
of this good fortune. It was very plain that
minus his rough humor and his border bluntness,
the Captain was a gentleman amoug the best
As he leans back in his chair, his eyes fall
upon an old portrait on tho wall, in an oaken
frame. It represents a cavalier in lace, em
broidery, and long curling peruke. The Captain
asks who it is.
“ That is my grandfather;" says Major Stock
ton, “ a brave gentleman, sir.”
“No doubt of it;” returned Wagner, “he
looksit every inch! People think these berullled
and powdered folks won’t fight. It’s a mistake!
now I believe that old fellow up there but
you have not told me his name. Major.”
“ Col. Egbert Stockton, of Stockton Manor,
England, Captain.”
“ Well, I say Colonel Egbert was a brave fel
low, or faces don’t express character."
“No braver man ever lived,” said the Major,
gazing w’th much complacency at tho picture.
The Captain nodded, byway of expressing
his concurrence in this statement, and said, with
a musing tug at his huge moustache:
mmvku mmb
“ I should like to have a picture of my grand
father. I’m not weak on the question of an
cestry as some people are I’m told, but I’d value
a portrait of Julius I. as I call him. He was a
great Injun fighter I’m told, and you see, Major,
I would hang him up at Fort Pleasant, and call
the attention of my friends to him, with the
slight remark that in his day, he was a great
collector of specimens of human hair.”
“Hair, Captain?"
“ Scalps, Major, bloody, Injun scalps. In his
time, the first Julius aforesaid relieved about
one thousand InjuDS of their head coverings.
Brave old bushfighter!”
And the Captain seemed to derive a tranquil
satisfaction from the thought of his ancestor’s
achievements.
“I don’t mind saying I’m proud of him, Ma
jor, and I have no opinion of the man who is
indifferent about the people who were kind
enough to be his forefathers.”
“ Certainly such a feeling is far from natural
or reasonable,” replied the host; “ nothing is
more absurd than to hear some popinjay boast
ing of his noble family, and arrogating supe
riority on that ground. But I maintain that ’tis
an honorable pride to feel satisfaction at the
thought that the blood in our veins ought at least
to be good.”
“Bight, and zounds! my dear Major, I be
lieve in that same thing of blood. I am myself
of opinion that tho son of a male and female
sneak never yet was a lad of mettle—that a
generous noble-hearted fellow never yet had pa
rents and grand-parents who were mean and
no-account! Now, here’s Beausire —I don’t
mean to flatter you comrade, Wagner never flat
ters—but I’ll wager that your father or grand
father was some valorous chevalier, game to the
backbone and as true as steel. Eh, comrade?”
All eyes were turned to Beausire —all eyes
but Isabel’s. With burning blushes, which
sprung from sensitive love, sympathy, and the
fear that her companion was deeply wounded,
Bhe cast down her eyes, and only raised them
when she heard the clear calm voice, in which
no traco of pain was discernible.
“ My father a chevalier, did you say, Captuin ?”
were tho tranquil words. “ I think not, but I
do not know. I never knew my father’s
name.”
A moment bad been enough for the young
man. His heart had ached, indeed, as the gray
liaired host spoke of his ancient family, and the
proud hcritago of honorable blood—but almost
immediately that pang, the offspring not of
shame but of love for Isabel had disappeared. —
There was in this poor and nameless man of the
woods,a pride of character and strength of mind,
whielrquelled the momentary feeling which the
soldier’s words had naturally aroused. He did
not affect that calmness —in his inmost heart, he
said—
" I am honest, why should I be ashamed?”
Then, in the midst of the silence which fol
lowed his reply to the Captain—that silence
which succeeds tho utterance of words which
we fear have wounded some one present—tho
. young man added:
"This surprises you. perhaps, .good friends—
but what I say is the literal in**. I bfive no
right to any um< 1 bear but the/imple Henry
—-none at all to Bdtuaire. ’Tis asking story-and
not worth relating—but God alofce knowß my
origin—l do not. lam nameless,’’
Before he knew it almost, thr huge hand
of the border captain caught bis own, and the so
norous words rung out:
“ I don’t care a baubeo who your father was,
companion, or what’s your name! I say you’re
a heart of oak, and bravo and true a boy us ever
walked! —and W signer is a dog, a bruts, a more
vulgar fellow to go blabbing out his low, dis
gustiug talk about you 1 I stick, though, to the
chevalier I And I’ll bet my head that you’ll
find some day that I’m right!”
“ Don’t think I’m wounded or mortified, Cap
tain," returned Beausite, smiling—“ after all it
is more important to do your duty than to know
your origin—is it not ?”
“It is, sir," said tho calm, courteous voice of
Major Stockton, who had listened to tho young
man with some evidence of feeling on his old
face, " and I honor yon for the manly pride
which has kept you from yielding to the petty
weakness of artificial life. ’Tis the bravo, true
heart, not the quartering on the shiold, that
makes the gentleman—and had I not known be
fore that you were such, I should know it
now.”
The words were accompanied by a courtly in
clination, such as the honest old major would
have bestowed upon a nobleman or lady; and
Beausire bowed his head in return.
“Good!” cried tho sonorous voice of Captain
Wagner. “Nothingis more pleasant than these
littlo compliments between friends—and thanks
to you, Major, for smoothing over my vulgar
rudeness. You see, Beausire, we’re all good
friends, and so tho affair is over. From this
time forth you can count on Julius Wagner as
your eomrade, if you’ll have him—and if you
go on the great campaign, we’ll eat the enemy
or bo cat by ’em in brotherly union—eh, com
panion ?”
“ Willingly, captain,” said Beausire, laugh
ing, “ and 1 intend to join the forces if they will
have me.”
“ Have you! Comrade, I’ve told you once
before that Wagner don’t make pretty speeches
—but in spito of that fact, I announce to this as
sembly, that I would not givo one trained fron
tiersman like you, for the best company in the
best regimeut o! Braddock’s army. You think me
extravagant—but wait, my friends—wait and
see the event."
Whether Captain Wagner’s opinion was a just
one or not. let history declare.
“ I’m going to Winchester to-morrow where
the volunteers will meet,” continued the soldier
"and as Braddock will bo there, I will tell him
who you are, and get you an appointment.”
“ No, with many thanks, Captain,” said Beau
sire, “ but I will ride witli you to see the general
with whom I have business. And you, Will,”
; he said, turning to the youth, “ will you go,
; too?”
“Oh, yes!” cried the delighted Will, whose
head was full of military glory, “you know I’m
going on the campaign!”
” Then we'll all go together to Winchester,
and to Fort Duquesne,” said Beausire. “Cap
tain, you must extend the companionship-at
arms—to Will, too.”
“ Good! that’s arranged, my dear comrade,
and so we’ll set out early.”
With these words, Captain Wagner yawned,
and informed the company that he was going to
bed. The household accordingly separated, and
very soon no sound was heard iu the mansion,
but a low monotorous thunder which issued
from the apartment occupied by the borderer.
[to be continued in our next.]
Tiie complete correspondence of Buffon, in
cluding many of his hitherto unpublished let
ters, lias been published in Paris in two volumes,
edited by Mr. Henri Nadault de Buffon, great
grand nephew of the eminent naturalist.
(For the Southern Field end Fireside.)
ALONE.
BT JAMES M. THOMPSON.
Alone! Alone,
I tit end moan
O’er Joys lone since departed;
For Oh! far back
My life's dim track
I see the reef, uncharted,
Which stranded all my sweetest hopes,
And left me broken-hearted!
Aud on before
I see a shore,
Wrapped in eternal shadow;
And giant woods.
And silent floods,
Spread off so dim and sad—Oh!
I could weep)—that the very air
Sighs for a verdant meadow.
Gone from my sight
Is the land of light,
Where my youthful footsteps straying,
Saw only bowers
Os rarest flowers,
And felt the zephyrs .playing
* Upon the cheek to shame unknown;
And now my soul is saying—
“ Why am I left
In this world, bereft
Os all Its sweetest pleasures? ■»
My friends are gone,
So I have none,
Os those bright psychal treasures
Which fall from the lips of the near and dear,
When days arc merely measures.
“Aye metes of Time,
Whose lullaby chime
Kings on forevermore,
In the inmost mind
Like the voice of the wind
Which breaks on the misty shore
Os some lonely isle where the deep, dark sea,
Is never known to ;oar.”
Alone, alone
I sit and moan
O’er joys long since departed;
For 0! far back
My life's dim track
I sec the reef, uncharted,
Which stranded all my fairest hopes,
And left me broken-hearted!
Calhoun, ■
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
LADY GRADUATES.
"Say what you please,” cried my friend im
patiently, “ tho graduates of our Female Col
leges are no better informed, nine times out of
ten, than if they had been instructed at good
common schools, and, as a general thing, the
knowledge they do acquire is so superficial
that they can make no practical application of
it in after life. I know you will not deny this,
graduate though you are, but can you give me
a reason why it is so V. _
That there was^mu ef- . lady’s re
murk I man oumfk v ' part, nor was
lat a loss fur rtasoib j. ° ut of the
tions, oae explanatioufcf the imperfect informa
tion possessed by sonlo who have fnjoyed the
best advantages these latter afford, may be
found in the early ago at which they commence
a college course, and the brief period allotted
them for its completion.
Take up the catalogue of studies in any popu
lar Female College and note how into the nar
row compass of four years is crowded Natural
and Moral Science, Mathematics, Belie Lettres,
Ancient aud Modern Languages, Music, Draw
ing, Painting, Embroidery, in fine all tho studies
embraced in the curriculum of a Male College
with the whole list of feminine accomplishments
superadded, and then say whether girls who
graduate nt sixteen or seventeen can be expect
ed to comprehend, and make thoroughly their
own, ‘heso various branches. To profess that
they can or do, is to attempt a humbug as arrant
as over emanated from the land of wooden nut
megs. The wonder is not that we know so lit
tle, but that we remember anything at all; not
that our minds are slightly disciplined, but that
our intellectual powers are not uttorly dwarfed.
Education is not tho more exeroise of what has
been styled the faculty of receptivity, it should
also call into action Judgment, Reason, and Re
flection, which as skilful architects rear from
the heterogeneous collections of Memory a men
tal structure that, adorned by the graces of
Imagination, polished by Taste, lighted by pure
Sentiment, forms a glorious palace for the habi
tation of an immortal soul. This is not the work
of an immature mind, by a hurried process.
The eelobrated Pestalozzi laid it down as a
prime law that “ a clear and adequate concep
tion must accompany every word the pupil
learns or the teacher utters.” In this rapid
course there may he a clouded perception, no
definite appreciation, a mechanical apprehension,
nover a clear understanding connected there
with. Perhaps some, parent may point to the
last brilliant examination of his daughter as a
disproof of what has been said. We answer
that these fine exhibitions are often the result
of an incessant, miserable system of drilling in
certain portions of text-books through the latter
half of tho term, aro produced “by drawing
from the minds of children thoughts transplant
ed there without root; ” hence, frequently, are
of no more value as proofs of scholarship than
would be the rote chirpings of a parrot.
Again, at the age when this course of study
is carried on, if diligently pursued, there is
danger that the physical powers be irremediably
injured. The vitality of the body may be drawn
upon too largely by the activity of the mind, the
equilibrium of the nervous system destroyed, the
brain, taxed by undue labor, thrown into an
abnormal state, and so the frame which God has
fearfully and wonderfully made is unstrung, and
the nightmare incubus of disease casts its
gloomy weight upon life, hope and energy.—
This is not always the case; that sometimes it
is unquestionably so, experience and living ex
amples mournfully testify.
As for reform in this particular, it belongs to
the parental public to inaugurate it. Let them
endow their colleges, and instead of urging the
teachers to hurry their daughters forward as
quickly as possible, chargo them to make sure
and thorough work, even if slow, allowing them
ample means to obey the injunction, and our
lady graduates would be a different class of
scholars altogether. They might not be smat
terers in everything, but what they did know
they .would know perfectly.
Another reason of the seeming inefficiency of
the female colleges in imparting instruction, lies
in the prominence given to the study of some
branches above others of more practical import
ance. For instance, in order for a young lady
to obtain a diploma it is deemed absolutely re
quisite that she go through a full mathematical
course, including geometry, trigonometry, and
sometimes, we believe, conic sections. She may
have no talent for these studies, she may not
possess a mind sufficiently developed to pursue
them with profit, she may be wofully ignorant
of the mysteries of arithmetic and algebra, the
keystones of numerical reasoning, but if, by
dint of pushing, dragging, and driving, she
manages to blunder through the course, she re
ceives a parchment certifying to proficiency in
the various departments of learning, and not
else.
Indeed, with some teachers, mathematics
seem to be regarded as the beginning, the end,
the summum bonum of education. “ They flat
ter themselves that they can resolve mathemat
ically all the difficulties offered by the nicest
questions, and extend the dominion of Algebra
over the world.” While we do not deny the
great use of the exact sciences to discipline the
mind, as calculated to fix the attention, exercise
the reason on primitive truths, and train the
faculty of thought to steady, concentrated labor,
—while we admit that their principles form the
basis of many of the most true and noble theo
ries of nature and art, wo think that as at pres
ent, too frequently, taught, they are of no per
manent value. Not that the female mind is in
capable of comprehending abstruse calculations,
but they are forced upon it before its under
standing is qualified to grasp them, and laid
aside ere it is prepared to benefit by their dis
cipline. The secret of their power is not yielded
to the crude, careless observation of a few
months or years. The genius of their domain,
venerable with the lore of centuries, delivers
not his treasures of priceless worth to every
eager, irreverent intruder.
“ Mathematical studies require a regular gra
dation in improvement and power of thought,
from the plainest propositions upwards, a dis
criminating examination of premises.” The
process of instruction in general is conducted
on a plan directly inversive of this assertion.—
Having learned the multiplication table, afld the
simplest arithmetical definitions, the child is set
to work out sums under the four leading rules.
If of average capacity she will do this without
much difficulty, and so the work is performed by
rule and the answer got, the teacher is satisfied.
No attempt is made to ascertain how far slio
really understands these sums, whether she is
able to apply the principles she has learned, or
give any other reason for her work than “ the
rule says so.” Thus, only the “ mechanism of
intelligence ”is employed. The different steps
through which it moves are unintelligible to the
scholar, and instead of thought being evolved
from the mind by voluntary exertion, a number
of words and figures, with no ideas attached,
are fastened upon it. So arithmetic and algebra
are finished, yet the powers of analysis, com
bination, reflection, slumber dormant The
skeleton of knowledge is possessed, but where
are the living intuitions of understanding to
clothe it with flesh and muscle? Now comes
geometry—and young girls unskilled in the de
duction of inferences and corollaries, of tho
connection between cause and effect, who have
not yet “learned how to learn,” are required to
demonstrate with wonderful facility propositions
which would cost even a savant some effort to
/comprehend. s Iflhese theorems are learned by
rote, but their mutual Relations, their real Sift,
nificance, not Acirig uppreciated, the memory
is racked to/retain “dogma* and assertion?
without lighter proof or practical judgment”—
In a similar way trigonometry is passed through,
and the scholaf is considered ready to be intro
duced to the dtudy of astronomy, to those “ laws
of quantity that make the universe their diagram,
to the intellectual magnitudes of the world's
master spirits, to the unsearchable empire of
that religion which feels after the God ol Arc
tarus and tho Pleiades.” Need we say that sho
is but ill fitted either to cope with its difficul
ties or to enjoy the sublime grandeur of its
speculations? Plato once, in raptured mood,
pronounced geometry the “purifier of the
soul.” In our day it has become the confuser
of the mind.
Lord Bacon said, “ If a man’s wits be wan
dering, let him study the mathematics.” With
us it is the custom to study them till the wits
wander. While these studies are so lauded and
attended to, others are but slightly glanced at,
especially the commoner branches. Geography,
which in the German “ real-schools ” is studied
for at least six years, is in some of our institu
tions dropped in one or less. History, grammar
and spelling are sometimes dismissed in the
same time. Reading and composition are bare
ly practised (we have known instances where
girls wrote hut two or three compositions in a
whole term, and did not read at all). Botany,
that most beautiful and improving study for a
lady, is often just peeped into; physiology, which
would do her more good than all the trigonom
etry she learns, is but superficially acquired, and
so we might enumerate a long list similarly
neglected, until the college-girl obtains her de
gree, innocent of any practical wisdom, destitute
of power to put to use the knowledge she has
obtained. It has been observed that at fifteen
the perceptive faculties mature, somewhere
about twenty-five the imaginative, and the
reasoning seldom before thirty. Thirty , it must
be confessed, would be rather too old for a grad
uate to make her debut, but we inquire why
in the name of common sense she should be
expected to exhibit its maturity at seventeen?
If in society a graduate is sometimes met with
who cannot pSrse a sentence in her mother
tongue correctly, or write a letter neatly, or
converse without uttering solecisms, tho fault
is not always to be laid at her door. It is the
result of a mistaken, overwrought system, as
well as of natural incompetency, or downright
laziness when at school. Many*of our young
ladies, if interrogated a few years after leaving
college as to what they remember of their learn
ing, would be sadly puzzled for an answer, and
in point of intellectual growth and discipline
would be found far below their mothers, who
yet never extracted the cube root, syllabled a
line of the famed proposition about the square of
the hypothenuse, nor so much as dreamed w’hat
a logarithm meant.
It appears to us that unless a lady has a de
cidedly mathematical turn of mind, or intends
to become a teacher of the highest branches, it
is a superfluous and futile task for her to pursue
such studies beyond that arithmetic of common
life which will protect her against the frauds,
the extravagance, the pecuniary imprudence by
which others suffer. Positive knowledge of
actual truths is worth more than all the imagi
nary discipline in the world.
“ But,” it has been asked, “ what would you
substitute in place of the higher mathematics?”
We answer, that as things now stand, a thorough
course in the classics of the English language,
both of the older writers and those of modern
date, would be Worth to the majority of females
more than those. “ Grammar,” writes the learn
ed Madame De Stael, “ unites ideas as calcula
tion combines figures; grammatical logic is
equally precise with that of algebra, and still it
applies itself to everything that is alive in the
mind." Such a course in which the analogies
of speech, the relations of words, the genius of
composition were faithfully studied, would ac
complish much towards disciplining the atten
tion, developing the judgment and thinking
powers, and cultivating an appreciative taste for
the beautiful. Take up in connection with this
those ancient languages which are “ the study
of reason, of history and philosophy, of human
nature and mankind,” and if learned in the
proper manner, an acquaintance with them will
give an aptitude in gathering, combining and
employing ideas, will compel a facility in ana
lysing thought, which will furnish a peculiar and
appropriate discipline of the intellect When
such a proficiency in these languages is attained
as to enable one to “ gaze into the full orb 0/
Homeric song, laugh with Horace, philosophize
with Cicero, historize with Cassar, or walk with
Eneas and the sybil in the mild light of the
world of the laurelled dead,” there must have
been acquired a proportionate stretch of mental
power, an exercise of the faculties at least equal
to that afforded by the mathematical course, be
sides which the storehouse of memory is filled
not with a combination of abstract numerical
problems—bearing no analogy to those of prac
tical life—but with the rich gems of poetry,
wisdom and art, which glitter with sparkling
radiance through the gloom of centuries. -
Or, if it be deemed superfluous td study these,
then let those modern languages that fashion
has decreed necessary to the list of accomplish
ments be attended to, and when “all the root
words, forms, inflexions, and peculiarities of
structure and idiom,” are learned, when, not
content with being able to prattle a few hack
neyed phrases, the student strives after that
perfection as a linguist which shall make her
thoroughly mistress of their whole range of
literature, wo venture to think that her mind
will not be badly trained. If we read the re
cords of biography we shall find that many wo
men most distinguished in their own times for
mental cultivation were diligent students of the
languages. It is said that during the sixteenth
century which was so productive of learned wo
men, “ the fair sex seemed to believe that Greek
and Latin added to their charms; and Plato and
Aristotle, untranslated, were frequent ornaments
of their closets." In this century Lady Bur
leigh translated Chrysostom into English. More
than a hundred years after her lived Elizabeth
Cartqj, who gave a translation of Epictetus to
the public, and who was mistress of moro lan
guages than we have patience to write dowD,
including a partial knowledge of Arabia And
we might enumerate many other names of those
who, without the discipline of mathematics,
have yet contrived to build up a reputation
which posterity has not suffered to die. It is
the common opinion that gossip is the besetting
sin of woman, and if so, it is because she has
nothing else worth talking about but current
news. Let her education be of a nature to sup
ply this paucity of ideas, such as to inspire
noble views and thoughts, and this complaint
will fall to the ground, for the only reason why
“ society is so subject to ennui, is that those
with whom wo live can converse of nothing but
external objects, nor arc persons left at rest”
When wo hear the exact sciences cried up as
th ewnly means of mental discipline, and see
resTv important studies dropped or almost en
tirfi’ neglected for the sakeTof a mere super
ficial acquainta'tenUtfi thenk we are ready to—
wiqs that a decree of ostracism was pronounced
'agijnst the whole role, fit) present system
retires too much and as a consequence its re
sujß often amount to—nothing. One of the
eany Christian councils once discussed in full
and solemn conclave the question whether wo
men were human creatures or not. It was finally
decided in the affirmative. So much is expected
from them note, above the level of common in
telligence, that it would be well to have their
original status clearly defined again. They are *
neither less nor are they more tnan human.
But not to dwell longer on the defects of the
college system itself, one prime reason why its
graduates do no more credit to its operation, is
that they neglect to improve their advantage?
after they leave school. Too oflfen, books are
laid aside, the very .name of studying abjured,
and in one continuous round of light, frivolous
amusements, all attempts to preserve or to ac
quire information are abandoned. The effort to
improve becomes irksome, and is the exception
not the rule, until gradually the bright, promis
ing gill, degenerates into the commonplace, but
nominally intelligent woman. No reformation
in the system wifi be of permanent benefit un
less a steady, determined, independent resolu
tion of self-culture be formed and kept by its
subjects. For the sake of the Institutions they
have left and for their own credit, cannot our
lady graduates adopt such a resolution ?
ZIOLA.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
THE WHITTINGTON CLUB.
No. 9.
(concluded.)
Whittington. —But you do not think, Profes
sor, that by the overthrow of Ctcsias the credi
bility of Herodotus has been completely estab
lished? Surely, there is much in his narratives
themselves to “ awaken scepticism.”
Hastings. Unquestionably; but then, my
dear sir, we ought never to lose sight of the
fact that Herodotus was not merely an historian ;
he was also a legendary writer, a compiler of the
various characteristic traditions of the East,
which he has artlessly interwoven with the
threads of his more serious narratives. Now,
it can be clearly proved that the vast majority
of such traditions and legendary anecdotes were
believed at the time, even by the intelligent and
learned; the authority upon which they rested,
appeared to Herodotus as to others—incontro
vertible ; and very naturally, therefore, he re
peats these fables with an air of thorough con
viction, because, indeed, to him they were no
fableß at all.
Whittington. —Well, Professor, there is at
least one point upon which your favorite has
been convicted of gross exaggeration, if not
downright falsehood. I myself am a great ad
mirer of Herodotus, and think that he has re
ceived hard measure from the critical icono
clasts ; but I must confess that his description
of Babylon, which, it is well knowi? he visited
and personally examined, seems to me mfleh
more creditable to his imagination than his can
dor.
Hastings. —There is justice in your objection ;
we can hardly believe, as Herodotus positively
states, that any city ever existed “ forming a
square of four hundred and eighty stadia (very
nearly sixty English miles 1!) in circuit, and sur
rounded by a wall upwards of ninety feet in
thickness, and three hundred and seventy feet
high 11” But, as an intelligent British reviewer
has lately said, the general result of Herodotus’
description of Babylon is confirmed by the con
current testimony of competent writers and the
popular belief of antiquity. Aristotle speaks of
the enormous extent of the city, and says, “ its
walls are capable of containing a nation.”—
Moreover, the numbers and details given by