' . • . . . .., . . . .. . ar y ....• ...... •I - . •.. , . . . 14 . . ••, ~• . . i ~ . AY M.013:17. 1 1' WITS MILD PITON.) 4 2111.2 4:920E6,21i1D0 -"With sweetest flowers cnrich'd. From various gardens cull'd with care." Wily ARE ROSES RED. In days of yore, ere vice began, Or death became the lot of man. The r 0 -211 all were pare and white, But changed to red in one sad night, When outcast Eve, o'ersvhelm"d with shame, From Eden's blissful garden came. No longer pure, from blemish free, The spotless white we e'er shall see. Eves tears from some effaced the stain Which still, though tinged, their white retain Soon thorns their tender stalks do vest, No more with safety to be prest; Sad emblem which conveys to Man That sorrow came when vice began. THE NEEDLE.—E V WOODWORTH. The gay belles of fashion may boast of excelling In waltz or cotillion—at whist or quadrille; And seek admiration by vauntingly telling Of drawing, and painting, and musical skill— But give me the fair one, in country or city, Whose home and its duties are dear to her heart; Who cheerfully warbles some rustical ditty, While plying the needle with exquisite art, The bright little needle—the swift little needle, The needle directed by beauty and art. If Love have a potent, a magical token, A talisman, ever resistless and true—. A charm that is never evaded or broken, A witchery certain the heart to subdue— 'Tis this—and his army nesse has furnished So keels and unerring, or polished a dart. Let Beauty direct it, so pointed and burnish'd, And oh! it is certain of touching the heart. Be. wise, then, ye maidens, nor seek admiration Be dressing for conquest, flirting with all; You never, whateer be your fortune or station, Appear half so lovely at route or at ball, As gaily convened at a work-covered table, Each cheerfully active and playing her part, Beguiling the task with a song or a fable. And plying the needle with exquisite art. 1 - 2 W-P FROM THE BALTIMORE 310E1731E5T. Irride was not made for Man, A TALE OP THE WEST. UT MEE. LYDIA JANE PEIEOON. In ono of theinfant settlements of the then "far west," in a fair valley between two lofty and forest feathered hills, stood the elegant mansion of the wealthy and proud Mr. Ellsworth, who had mi grated from Philadelphia on the death of an idol ized wife—feeling as if the world had lost all its charms, bud seeking in retirement solace for his grief. He had chosen a most beautiful situation beside the clear river, and pivjected and carried into effect improvements that rendered his part of the valley picturesque in the extreme. The atten tion he bestowed upon his lands diverted his atten tion; and as he had long since contracted a distaste for what is termed society, he was fax happier a mongst the sweet blossoms where the wild birds were singing, than he could have been amongst the pomp and empty complimentary chat of crowd ed rooms or gay assemblies. • Ho had an only daughter, whom he brought with him—a wild, beautiful child of seven years. She was his almost constant companion within door and out,, till he became so much accustomed to her bright face and lively chatter, that he felt but half himself without her. It seemed that his soul was so constructed that it must rest, with in tenseklove, on some object; and since he had lost the idol of his youth, he enthroned her child in the void place she had left. Her, education was his pastime when he was at home. She was a girl of quick and strong intellect, and he taught her with a pleasure that increased as she advanced in know ledge and understanding. • There were several families of poor adventurers settled in the valley who found employment on Mr. Ellsworth's farm; for every day they could spare from their own plantations, and the ready wages they receiveitenabled them to procure many little comforts. Amongst them was a Mr. Melvin, who had come to those parts after losing ricomfor. table property by an unlucky speculation. Ho was a than of good education, and Mrs. Melvin was a woman of no common character. But in a new country all who labor are upon a level, and Mr. Ellsworth was the only exception here.— Melvin had a son about the age of Clara Ellsworth, a smart, iiitelligent little fellow, to whom Mr. Ells worth became so partial that he persuaded his par ents to consign him to his care. Charles was now Clara's companion in her studies, and his proginis was almost wonderful. Clara was his instructress in those branches in which she was advanced, and Mr. Ellsworth paid equal attention to both. They hardly knew in which they found more pleasure, the study or the garden in which they planted and nursed the most beautiful shrubs & flowers. But the ramble by the strearn,the excursion on the hill-side., and the gambol on the green grass of the valley, when Mr. Ellsworth, absorbed by meditation or sumo plan of improvement. suffered them to range at liberty, and amuse themselves as best suited their childish buoyancy of spirit—these were things of real happiness—seasons of delight unal loyed, such as memory paints on ht holiest pages, and loves to review even when her magic eye is growing dark forever. Although it is evident that Mr. Ellsworth was not fond of society, still he loved not the life of an anchorite; and to pass a few hours in the com pany of Mr. and Mrs. Melvin" was a pleasure in which be frequently indulged.. They were both . persons of great conversation a l powers, who had added to their book education much knowledge obtained by close observation, weighed in the bal ance of sound judgment. In fine they had "read mankind" and obtained a thorough knowledge of the world. Not a knowledge of the fashions, fol lies, affectations, and whole routine of coniplimen tary libels of city life, but the deep workings of the heart—the overflowing of the spirit, as it appears amongst the children of agriculture and industry. The city proudly styles itself the World; so might a- garden of tulips style itself a pine forest. Mr. Melvin often remarked that polished society is like a person in full dress; while in the wilds of a new settlement the labyrinths of the human soul are undisguised, and society, therefore, like Adam in Eden, naked and,having no cause for concealment, unashamed. Yet they felt themselves flattered by the attention of Mr. Ellsworth, for the inhabitants of Violet Vale were like the rest of us—bad re publicans. The rich man loved to be honored as great, and the poor acknowledged their littleness by the evident pleasure with which they received his proud attentions. But Charles and Clara . understood not as yet the difference that gold or no gold makei4 between con genial and equally cultivated minds, and each saw in the other an equal in all respects. True, Charles was boldest; but Clara was most wily; Charles was strongest, but Clara was most nimble—Charles 'possessed most fortitude, but Clara had most pa tience. The dark, quick 'eye of Charles scanned the spirit of a glance—Clara's blue eyes penetra ted sweetly to its recesses as the bright heaven beams through the collected waters. They were a beautiful and joyous pair, and it was happiness to look upon them, so innocent, so glad-hearted, so affectionate they seemed. Had life, amongst all her enchantments, aught to overcast their brightness? Mr. Ellsworth regarded Charles almost as a dear child, and looked forward to the time when he should take charge of the farm; thus relieving him of a care which grew more burdensome as his years increased. But, although he had adopted him as a son, ho did not intend that ho should be come really so by an union with his daughter.— No, no; he was too proud for that—too much of an aristocrat. The boy might do well enough; but the connexions! His parents were respecta ble; but ho had several brothers and sisters who would intermarry with the poor and illiterate fam ilies around them, and this would never do. But this mutter gave him no great uneasiness. He had laid his plans. He sedulously instilled his own principles into the mind of his daughter, and re joiced to see them take root, and to find that the little recluse looked forward to days of gaiety with a rich and fashionable husband who would make her the envied centre of high life. Alt! poor girl, little did she think that from the gilded pinnacle to which her ambition aspired it was pos.sible to look with keen and bitter regret on the blissful days of unencumbered delight,wheri she was mistress alike of her own time,inclinations and actions, and there lay no lead on the quick, bounding heart. Meantime her whole delight was the society of her father and Charles; but the lively chat of the latter was more congenial to her young heart,and she relied upon him as upon an only and affec tionato brother. His heart knew no idol but Clara. To servo her, to please her, to meet her smile and hear her glad laugh, his dearest plea sures. And when Mr. Ellswerthismiled with ap probation on their mental attainments, their mu tual labors in the garden, or their joyous pastimes, ho felt a happiness at once pure viel exhale. Mr. Ellsworth was careful to fill his mind with high notions of holier. He taught him to despise dissimulation, double dealing, or any thing that could tarnish his name amongst his felow—fre , quently repeating to him, Do nothing which you feel you could not hoar published without a blush. But, alas! ho was not a Christian. He knew nothing of the power of religion upon the soul.— Ho could not, therefore, teach it to his children. Of course they knew nothing of that deep, sweet humility, that universal love, that steadfast confi dence in Jehovah, th it blessed reignation to the will of God that proves at once the crown of all earthly felicity, the solace of all worldly woe, There was one truly religious family in the val ley,and they were almost wholly strangers to their neighbors. It was said they were Methodists,and that name, at that time, in that place, was an ef fectual barrier to familiar intercourse. A Metho dist was shunned at once from a fear of reproof and a belief that ho had a disrelish for society, nn aversion to all common topics of conversation and concerns of social life. This family, of the name of Manfred, possessed a little farm at the lower extremity of the valley, where the hills, nearing each other, almost walled in the beautiful stream. The flat was narrow, but the hills swel ling gently to the west, were for some distance, susceptable of cultivation, and Mr. Manfred had, by quiet industry, subdued a considerable truct.— , Charles and Clara ono fine day wandered down the river angling, gathering flowers and berries, and amusing themselves in various WayS, until at length they found themselves at Mr. Manfred's door. There was an air of neatness and quiet a bout the house at once attractive and pleasing.— They entered, complaining of fatigue and request ed a little water. Mr's. Manfred received them courteously, and her daughter Anna, apparently about Clara's ago, brought them water and a plate of delicate cakes, of which she insisted upon their partaking. While doing so they spoke in terms of admiration of the beauty of the prospect and neatness of the farm. Anna proposed to show them the garden and fields. All were truly in the highest state of cultivation and beauty, at the end of the walk that traversed the garden. was an ar bor built of lattice work, and closely covered with beautiful bloisoming vines. Within it was furn ished with benches, and at the fair side was a small table on which lay some books. “Is this your study, Miss Annul" asked Clara. "Oh, no! it is our chapel," the sweet girl re plied with a serious smile, •Your chapel! what do you do herer "Wo meet hero in the pleasant evenings and on the Sabbath to read the holy book, to sing praises, to pray, and oiler our humble thanksgivings to our heavenly Father." "Thanksgiving!" cried Charles; "for what are you so very thankful'!" • "Oh! we aro not thankful as we ought to be," said Anna. "Surely our lives, our. health, food and raiment, and the continuance of each to the others are gßtters for which we should continual ly thank Gtid. But were we bereft of all earthly blessings, still the hope of heaven through our blessed Jesus would be matter of ardent praise and gratitude. 'Tis but of little moment bow we fare here, to the truly humble Christian who feels his own unworthiness and praises implicit trust in a righteous Dispenser of events. Yet we have all things plenty. Oh! we are very ungrateful;" and she raised her dark, beautiful eyes with an ex pression" at once so sweet, so meek, so happy that her auditors looked on her with admiration and wonder. i.Charlos," said Clara, as they. walked home ward, "I always thought that religion mane people sad and unsociable; yet this Anna Manfred is as cheerful and agreeable a girl as ono need converse with." t , Sho is so," said Charles thoughtfully; "and now that I reflect on it, who hays is just reason "I WISH NO OTHER HERALD, NO OTHER.SPEAKER OF MY LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR,PHOM CORRUPTION."-SDARS. azat - ermaaiwiteat e vpcista , zgartmgcar e avaa acizm to be cheerful as those who believe the great and good God their friend? Who have as little ria son to be displeased with their fellow creatures as (hose who feel that a' Deity who loves them controls all events? or whb have so little cause for anxiety as those who count this world as nothing, and expect a blessed home in heaven? Clara, I wish I a was Christian!" She made no reply,and al most for the first time in their glad lives they walk ed thoughtfully together. Timn passed on. Mr. Ellsworth WWI getting white-headed. Charles had become a fine 'yonth, and managed business.with judgment and ability. Clara was a beautiful lively being, and but for the wrong bias of her mind might have been content ed arid hrippy, loved and worshipped; but she thought of fashion and fashionable life; and being a subscriber to several frothy, fashionable periodi cals, she adopted the styles of dress delineated on their pages, and longed to mingle in the society of which they spoke so flatteringly, assuming an af fectedly deportment and speaking in the tones of high life when in the society of the simple, artless girls of the valley. Oh! had she been blessed with the guardian carp of a mother or any experienced female friend, to have shown her how preposter ous such things were in that quiet, humble life,and how little reality there is in all the show of happi ness, exhibited by the votaries of fashion, she might have been the gay recluse, acknowledged queen of the sylvan region; but the young girls, though humble and uninformed,saw the unfitness of her carriage, and although.they spoke not light ly of her, they fell in their natures to dispiso affec tation in dress and manner. Charles saw these things with real pain, but he considered them as the ebullitions of girlish vani ty, which would subside in the reason of woman. hood. All the incidents of their early days were graven on his heart. He had loved her from 'in fancy, and foibles which, in another, he would have condemned looked even graceful in her.— The intensity of his love for her seemed the very fire of his spirit's existence. Ho entertained no doubt of her love for him; for on whom else had she ever smiled! With whom beside had she ever rambled? To whom had she ever turned in confidence but him? Who else had shared her jnya and transitory sorrows, or who else had so striven to gratify, serve and soothe her? He saw love in her bright smile and beaming eye; but he could not speak to her of love. He felt as if such an eclaircissement would destroy the fraternal con 7 &lance now existing between them, and create a diffidence that would interrupt the sweet freedom of their present communings. Clara felt nothing of all this; she never dreamed of loving Charles other that as a brother, and she regarded no ono e lse. Mr. Ellsworth was no stranger to either heart. He had watched them narrowly. Ho saw the deep, deep love of Charles in every glance, in every action. lie saw, also that cutra - onty men ed to hear the breathing of his affection to find and acknowledge her heart his own. He, therefore, thought it time to separate them. He had al ways intended, at such a crisis, to send his daugh ter to his brother in Philadelphia under the pre- text of giving her the opportunity of finishing her education at a female seminary; but, in retL:ity, in the hope of her forming a splendid Cliance.— Strange it is, that, having experienced the empti ness of fashionable life himself, he should wish to push his child into its airy circles—that, loving seclusion, ho should not rather have instilled the same love into her bosom; and been contented to see her the happy wife of a generous, respectable and amiable man. But alas! the passions of pride and avarice always strengthen with years; and he who can have but little time to live, and whose capacities for enjoyment are worn out, is most an xious for the accumulation of wealth and the ac quirement of worldly honor. Clara heard of her father's intention to send her to the city with un- mingled delight. To Charles the announcement seemed the bolt of death. For the first time he suspected Mr. Ellsworth's motive, and felt degra ded by it. Ho was then too low foi an husband to Clara! But did she love him? He determined to find out immediately; but Mr. Ellsworth con trived to keep them separately employed when out of hie presence; for he feared that the thought of separation might tell Clara that Charles was dear to her, and embolden Charles to tell his love to Clara. The few days passed hurriedly away, for ho did not declare his design long before the time ap pointed for its execution; and Charles did not ob tain an opportunity of speaking freely to Clara until the evening previous to the appointed morn ing. That day he had been absent on important business, and returned across the Old to look at some cattle,and then approached the house through the garden. Clara sat amidst the blossoms of her favorite honeysuckle bower, her posture was pen sive, and a tear lay trembling in her eyelid. "Clara!" he said, and she started and smiled, <why aro you sad! Do yo feel regret at leaving hese humble scenes for the pleasures of the city!" do, indeed, anticipate much enjoyment in the polished circles of fashionable life," she returned, "yet it seems sad to thihk of bidding adieu to my , nly parent and you, Charles." “Me, Clara! do you, then, regret leaving me?" "Indeed I do, Charles. Have you not always been a good brother to me! I shall feel but half myself away front you." "Oh! Clara, why need you go? Ido not think your visit will make you happier, and your absence will render me wholly miserable. Clara, you are dearer to me than forty sisters. Could you re turn my affections, we could be so wholly blessed in this dear valley!" "Charles!" said Clara, "what do you mean, to speak thus to me! I have styled you brothenneed you presume further? Say no more on such a subject. It is well lam going away;" and with these words she left him amazed, wounded, bereft at once of happiness and hope. 0, how bitter was that moment! The man who has deposited his wealth—all his life's earnings in a bank, and on some fatal day receives intelligence that it has utterly failed, knows nothing of its bit terness. All his affections were hers, all his hap piness rested on her returning those affbctions, all his hopes centered in the prospect of an union with her. His heart was affectionate, his, temperature ardent, his hopes high, and now to see all crushed to the earth together, his disappointment came like a tornado—it left only ruins. ' Clara, in her dumber% repented that OW had spoken so harshly to her ever tender and respectful friero; and on the morrow, as sho passed to the carriage, observing him stand abstractedly leaning against a pillar of the portico, sho said, gently, "Good bye, Charles—take carp of my Ilewers till I' return." .43, Clara! you will find them and me all with. ered," and turned away. She burst into a fit of passionals weeping. .Gladly would she hive relinquished her journey and have remained at homo—thnt blessed home of which she never knew the blessedness till now that she was leaving it. But the novel incidents of the journey dispelled hor regrets, and, arrived at the city, she Boon became the admired of all fashion's votaries. Hero let us leave her and return to her father's house. The morning after her departure Charles was severely 111, and Mr. Ellsworth began to fear that he had wrecked the happiness of the whole family. Ho wondered that he had not considered before that this visit was more likely to injure than to bo.nefit his daughter, and might be her utter ruin— that he could be happier in his age with the domes• tic, unsophisticated Clara than with a fashionable city belle; nnil that Charles would be a son-in-law more to his mind than a heartless stranger. These thoughts lay heavily upon his brain all the long night; and when Charles appeared in the morning, with feverish cheek and heavy rye, - rind "declined breakfast, his heart smote him sore. He sat down to his coffee sad and alone, and Charles went into the garden. Here every object reminded hint of blighted joys, of the lost one who had been his heart's treasure. His sickness increased. He felt heedless of all around him. His fever was violent, and so affected his head that, at every paroxysm, his mind wandered. But he spalto not of Clara. Her name was not upon his lips from the day of hor departure. The young people of the valley came in by ro tation to watch with him; for they loved him; but none suspected the cause of his illness, and they frequently, in his presence, lamented that Miss Clara was not there to nurse and soothe him. One night, after a long season of insonsibility,he awoke to consciousness, and heard some one speaking in a low, sweet voice beside him. The tones arrested his attention. Ho thought they were familiar,and listened silently. Never arose to the throne of God a more sweetly fervent prayer. 0, how did the speaker plead, through _Christ our righteous ness, for mercy and continuance of life to the die easol; but above all, that ho might be made a sub ject of that grace which could render him happy living or dying' The petitioner wept with deep sobs as she poured out her supplications. He was deeply affected. Who was it that loved him bet ter than he over loved himself!. She ended her prayer, and ho turned upon his pillow to look upon her. It was Anna. Manfred. The sweet girl had come to watch and pray by his sick. bel. Sho min on a loose wtovc sown, cArianien by. o -black ribband to a waist of fine proportion. Her dark, glittering hair, parted on her forehead, hung in natural curls about her white neck, and her mild, dark eyes beamed modesty, and a faint blush was on her check as she mot his opening eyes. He looked on her as as ono would gaze on an angel. "Anna," Ire said, .thas the Lord you love sent you here as his messenger to me, to save mo from perdition!" "Oh, may he save you for his own glory!" said she fervently. "Well, Anna, come sit by me and talk to me of this Jesus and his religion." She complied; and while she wondered at his ignorance she rejoiced at his docility and anxiety to become a Christian. She staid at Mr. Ellsworth some days. Charles began to mend,' - and became deeply convinced of his great sinfulness and need of a Redeemer.and learned to cry fervently to Him who is able to save to the uttermost. Anna inter ceeded for him, and mingled her prayers with his. Mr. Ellsworth regarded Anna as an angel visitant. Ho loved her, and listened profoundly whenever ho found an opportunity (for she was diffident be fore him,) to the words of instruction and devotion that fell from her smiling lips. As he became con vinced of the truth of C:tristianity ho felt more bitterly the folly of his dealings with Clara, and that pride was not made for man. As soon as Charles was able to leave his cham ber Anna returned home to the assistance of her mother. Charles, as his proud spirit submitted to God, felt his anguish, on 'Clara's account, soften ing. He felt that she had been his idol, and that God had, in mercy, destroyed her shrine that lie might find the true Fountain of consolation, and worship Hinz whose favor is everlasting- life. Ho bowed in meek submission to the will of Heaven, and felt the holy balm of consolation diffusingitself sweetly through all the wounds of his spirit, and ho became calm, serene, almost happy. Mr. Ells worthsaw the power of Christianity exemplified in his carriage,and read it on his cicar,placid brow, and in the sweet humility of his demeanor, and felt assured that this change was radical, and pro duced by a blessed Spirit. And he felt that this change was the one thing ho had needed all his lifetime, and he determined yet to experience it if it were to be found by him. A letter came from Clara which proved that her gay anticipations were wholly realized, and men tioning, with marked particularity, a gentleman whom she extolled as the most accomplished and agreeable of men. Charles felt a kt;en pang at his heart as he read this part of the letter. To him, however, she Bent an affectionate message, recom mending to his care her birds and her favourite bowers. Yes, he saidmentally, I will nurse them for her sake, when she was the sweet little girl, before pride came to congeal her heart,which is now dead to every generous impulse. Yes, pride has strangled all the fine feelings of her otherwise amiable 'nature.' Time passed. At length Clam's fine gentleman waited on Mr. Ellsworth with proposals for her.— He was all that she had described hirn,and more— handsome, genteel, accomplished, agrecable,proud, and an infidel. Mr. Ellsworth felt his soul shud der at the thought of consigning Clara to such a lord. But he brought a letter from her, sanction. ing his suit, and declaring her determination to be his wife at all events. . Mr. Ellsworth, therefore, accompanied the gentleman to the city, was pres ent at the wedding, paid his (laughter's portion from a deposits he had left there in bank,and saw her settlodin all the heartless pomp of fashion. Charles in the meantime wrestled with his feel ints, and experienced the blessed consolings of re- ligion. Clara was now lost to him past recovery, and he was enabled to bear it calmly. Mr. Ellsworth brought home with him many useful and interesting books, mathematical instru ments, and numerous curiosities, which ho presen ted to Charles, rejoicing truly to see him so com posed. He recounted Clara's prospects and pres ent situation; "but, said ho, "fashion is her God, dress her treason., seeing company her business, and her husband is valued by her only as the ob ject through which the others aro attained." Charles sighed. "Poor, heartless Clara!" "May God, convin, _ Ler of her folly, and coun teract,by his' 4 grace, the impulse of the early impres sions she received from me," said Mr. Ellsworth. "I strove to convinco her of their fallacy, and with her portion, presented a Bible. May God bless it to her." • Two years passed away, and Charles Melvin and Anna Manfred stood at the hymonea I altar, a beautiful and truly happy pair. Earth never saw a brighter heaven above it,or wore a garb of richer, verdant beauty than on that blessed day,and never (Edit couple look more fondly on each other, or more gratefully and confal:gly to heaven than they. Mr. Ellsworth was truly joyful. With Charles and Anna bow calmly would the evening of his days pass! Years fled away, leaving no trace of bitterness to corrode the future. Anna presented her happy husband with several fine children, and the Neils ing of Jehovah rested on all their ways. A faded beauty, of sad, calm countenance, and subdued and quiet spirit, was under their roof, acting as in structress to their children. And she was well qua'ified for the task: She could warn thom,froni her own experience, of the deleterious nature of pride—the falsity of earth's . splendors—the •insig nificance of dress and parade—the insincerity of fashionable friendship—the greediness of syco phants—the wickedness of flatterers—and how like a broken reed to rest upon is an infidel friend. How one such whom she had loved and trusted had proved infidel to her as well as to his Maker— squandered her fortune with his own, and deserted her to bear her load of mortification and misery alone. And often did she - entreat them with tears to beware of the vortex that wrecked the happiness of the now dependent CLARA; and as they contem plated the happiness of their benevolent and uni versally beloved parents, write deep in their heart's memories that PRIDE WAS NOT MADE TOR IKAN'. LIBERTY, TIOGA COUNTY, PA. 1837. Duties . of Females. So much has been written and said on the du ties of wives, that it wore a sad pity indeed, if the matrons of the present day had not reaped profit from the schoolings of tho censorious or the admo nitions of the experienced. Women are domestic creatures naturally—and there are but few, com paratively spcaking,who feel pleasure abroad when there is the lariat attraction at home. A fondness foryisiting appears to belong almost exclusively to spinsters who have passed the meridian of life, I or young misses who think that the world will not I go right when they are not lending a hand to keep I it in motion. But the female on whom has de- I volved all the sacred duties of a wife and a mother, holds a reverse opinion; she thinks that nothing will go right at home unless she' is there. To her there is music in the clang of the kitchen furniture, and what is erroneously, (in the opinion of editors and poets) called "setting to rights" becomes a duly from the force of habit and a desire to be consid ered nice. We think this same "setting to rights" an unlicensed privilege which house-keepers have taken upon themselves; neatness and cleanliness are always admired, but we do protest against the unceremonious amalgamation of our loose papers, the misplacing of our books, and the scattering of our ideas to the four winds of heaven, by the un poetical clutter of the dusting brush! Married i ladies aro generally tenacious of their rights at home; and so they shouid be—within doOrs is their empire, and a good wife, while she gratifies a lau dable pride in showing off her household stock to her advantage, will always be worthy of the com fort of a lordly partner. At home a wife should . always strive by kindness and good humor to keep the atrection,s of her husband as warm as they were in the young days of their union, for experi ence tells that it is easier to win a wan's affections than to keep them. Abroad she should assidious ly study to retain the esteem and good will of others, and avoid lotting the world know how much she loves her husband, for it is generally be lieved that those who coo abroad are cats and dogs at home. The duties of a mother call forth her utmost energies, her patience and forbearance:— On her devolves the high task of rearing her off spring from its tenderest age—to nurture it—to watch it with unceasing care—to cultivate its in fant mind and train it in the way it should go.— Many mothers we ore sorry to say, trust this nat ural duty to nurses who cannot feel their 'spirit lean towards the innocent heir to a life of care and toil. Wo have even known the children of rich and influential parents nursed and oven nurtured by negro nurses—and what was_ the consequence. As they grew up and began to speak, their words partook largely of the negro slang, their habits closely assimilated theinselves to those of their nur ses, and for the want of a mother's tenderness, they were always attached to the nurse. who in their infancy was the first to satisfy their wants and per force treat thorn with" kindness. Away with this Unnatural custom—all mothers should exclaim with the Roman matron when she pointed to her children, "these are my jewels"—two precious to bo trusted to other lbands. Fashion may make imperious demands upon the time and inclinstion of mothers who have been accustomed to follow in her wake—but what are the calls of Fashion to 'those of Nature?—which is the brightest ornament to domestic society, tho glittering married belle or tho tender mother whose entire heart and soul rest on the little cherub that ilea smiling in her arawl BrAuTr. 7 The following is an extract from Dr. Howss address before the Boston Phrenological Society, and contains a beautiful idea, on a beauti ful subject, beautifully expressed: ' , Most heartily do I agree with the sage who said, with a sigh —' Well, philosophers may argue and plain men may fret, hut beauty will find its way to the human heart.' And it should be so, for so bath the'Creator wisely and kindly ordained it. Ho bath *.fouchsakd to man the faculty of perceiv ing beauty. He bath made the perieption a source of delight to him, and he bath filled the earth, the eon, and the skies, with bright and beautiful ob- . • .e , jects, which he may contemplate and atinrit*. Else, why is the earth, and every thing hirer', it do varied of form, so full of beauty of outline, 70/4 arc not the hills, the rocks, tho trees, - ell /lista? Why run neth not the river canal-like to the ocean Why is not the grass black? Why coiuoth4he. green bud, the white blossom, the golden frnit,and the yellow leaf? Why is not the firrntunent of a leaden changeless hue 7 Why hang riot the cloud* like sponges in the sky? Why the bright tintiof ' morning, the splendor of noon, the georgeorts hies Ofsunact? Why, in a word, does the great filth'. ment, like an ever turning kaleidescope, at every revolving hour present to man a new beartti-: ful picture in the skies? I care not that 1,86111 re answered that these and all other beauties, Wheth er of sight and sound, uro the results of aninge inents for other ends. I care riot, for it is erumigh, for me that a benevolent God bath so constituted us,as to enable us to derivapleasure and benefittrom them; and, by so doing, ho bath made it incumbent upon us to draw from so abundant a course!' The Little Girl% A celebrated tutor in Paris was In the habit'of relating to his pupils, as they stood in a half circle before him, anecdotes of illustrious men, and ob taining their opinions respecting them, rewarding those who answered,well with tickets of merit.— On one of these - occasions ho mentioned to their an anecdote of Marshal Turenne._"On a fine summer's day," said he, "while the Marshal was leaningout of his window, the skirts of his coat hanging off from , the lower part of his body, tis valet entered tho room,approaching his master with a' soft step, gave him a violent blow with hig hand. The pain occasioned by it, brought the Marshal in stantly round, _ wben ho beheld his valet - OP his knees imploring forgivetiess,sayinfithat he thought it had been George, his fellow servant.", The question was thou put to each of the scholars," "What would you have done to the servant had you been in the Marshal's situation?" A haughty French boy,who stood fi rst,said—dtt on e! I would have run him through with my sword." nista ply filled the whole school with Surprise, and;the master sentenced the boy to , the forfeit of his tick ets. After putting the question to tho other Chil dren, and receiving different answers, be came at length to a little English girl, about eight years of ago. Well, my dear, and what would. yon done on this occasion, supposing you had been Marshal Tommie? She replied with all theite. dateness of her nation, should have said, sup pose it had been George, why strike so hadr— The simplicity and sweetness of this reply drew_ smiles of approbation from the whole school, and the Master awarded tho prize to her. - That truth outlives falsehood, was a sayinrof the groat-Napoleon. We - add, and many a bleed ing heart has been healed by the survivor. OPINIONS OF JOHN qUINCY‘ ADAMS, ON PUBLIC AFFAIRS. A TRIBUTE OF RESPECT.--A committees consisting of Messrs. Minott Thayer, Samuel A. Turner, Ebenezer J. Fogg, Solomon. Richmond, and Henry Field, recently waited , on the Hon. J. Q. ADAMS, and presented him withart,elegant, gold-headed CANE, made from thm wood of the old frigate Constitution, as a memento of gratitudefor his services as a Representativ o e of their Cengrea alone' district. The chairman of , the comaniteo addressed Mr. Alums, to whom Mr. A. replied' as follows. GENTLEMEN: Next to the satisfaction which a Representative Of the People may derive, on a calm review of his conduct upon trying occasions in the course of his. public services, there can be no object of more fer. vid desire to hint than the sincere and gen eral approbation of his constituents. In say ing this lam warranted in appealing to your owe convictions, who, as yourselves Repre sentatives of the People, will, with yeur hearts I am sure, respond , to the sentiment from your own experience. As the Representative in the Congress of . the United States of the same constituents as those of the members of the Legislature who-have dune me the honor, through you :is their committee, to express their , appro.. bation of my conduct, I have endeavored faithfully to discharge my duty to them and to our common country. Some parts of that'' duty duty have been arduous, and have given rise to much unpleasant excitement and contra versy. Avoiding, so far as was possible, consistent with the discharge of my. duty, - all action or langua g e irritating or offensive to our countrymen o f other portions. Of the Union, and carefully shunning all unneces sary encounter of conflicting interests and opinions,when I have believed the just rights . of my own and Your constituents to, be die ree,barded or in peril, I have felt myself call-, • ed to defend and vindicate them, With Out regard to possible consequences to myself.. In this I have barely and rigorously dischar ged my duty,for which and for any acciden tal inconvenience that may have fallen to me in the progress of public measures, the approbation of yourselvee and of our can stituents is ample reward. I accept alSe'the token of your regard ,which you have the goodness now to present to me, its value in' all other respects thane - friendly token being within the bounds which I have, throughout my whole public life,,prescribed to myselfin the acceptsnce of presents., With regard to the presect situation of our country, my sentiments correspontren. tirely with yours. , In the midst of the bOun. ties of Providence, showered upon us profusion, scarcely every lavithed epee arty other nation, we are suffertng set (Italy frQnk causes which I fear we must attribute entire. lr to ourselves. In our relations atthlit time with foreign nations, and most CIPOPIII7 -- - with the Indian tribes, we have more-4nm ewer for than to complain oE. Our seameet Indian_war was of our own provnignikand has been waged in no creditable - - - And, while we have wronged our 1;.. • • •-_,, at the South; by utterly unjusti , tions of her territory, unauthorized •-• Congress, we are permitting anottair ~~~~. [VOL. 14:.` INTERESTING LETTER. .7 .!;t„-,,,,....,,,,, „ g. i .,,,.... : ...4 . : i , ii i he i , , 4 ,114 4 :... 0 c , _ : ::.:4 ., -.:'".'44:.-.4.2r,,•.'4,4"0r'''-;..,.''- WEED
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