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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
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[VOL. 14:.`
INTERESTING LETTER.
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