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130

THE BEAUTY AND POWER OF FRANKNESS.

enchanting disposition to be so assiduously cultivated as in the formation of the youthful character. To all, it is an ornament; but here it shines with the greatest lustre. The soul which may claim a candor that scorns the sentiment or the utterance of aught deceitful, unites with it a noble and pervading generosity which loathes all that it is unbecoming to an infinite, immortal being.

Young ladies, look well to the manifestations of this characteristic in him who may seek favor at your hands! Is his heart crowned with this beautiful garland? It fades not like the laureate-chaplet of the victor. Does this glorious feeling breathe forth in the tones of his conversation, and actuate his impulse? Depend upon it, that is the soul to be trusted. Mark such a young man, as he threads the intricacies of every-day life! His peers yield him admiration and love, and long for similitude; his superiors cherish him with honor, and he wins admission to the noblest circles; he will be the faithful and honest tradesman, the confiding and affectionate husband, the pride, hope and trust of all with whom he is connected.

If the beauty and power of an ingenuous character are of so great value, how may we, while disciplining our abilities and shaping our future actions, attain it? Here we behold it a plant of indigenous growth to the heart. It seems born with the other impulses and spontaneous nature guides it. There, it is an exotic, transplanted to the soil of the human affections, and by careful nurture and indefatigable training, it blooms most beauteously. Would any one possess this invaluable treasure? Let the heart be regulated-—let the tendencies be moulded to the governance of virtue-let the actions be guided by the performance of duty. In fine, the only path to its attainment is by harboring nothing within the precincts of the soul, which would debase us if exhibited to the world. Unlike her, who, in the consciousness of guiltiness, shrinks into self-insignificance, the one possessed of this noble, dignified frankness, may stand forth in the worthy pride of a glorious confidence; timid constraint and foolish bashfulness endure not her presence, for she fosters too enlightened views of human nature, looks not on humanity with the suspicion and distrust which clothe it ever in garments of hypocrisy, but she views it in its descent from a high and holy parentage, its kindred to the Great Original of goodness, and feels that it can sympathize with lofty principle and noble aspiration. AMANDA.

New-York City, May, 1843.

DR. ROBERT SOUTHEY.-A WISE CHOICE.

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DR. ROBERT SOUTHEY. The following is an extract from a letter recently written by Mrs. Southey (formerly so well known as Caroline Bowles) to Mrs. Sigourney. It gives a lamentable picture of the present state of this distinguished man, the poet laureate of England.*

"You desire to be remembered to him who sang 'of Thalaba, the wild and wondrous tale.' Alas! my friend, the dull, cold ear of death is not more insensible than his, my dearest husband's, to all communications from the world without. Scarcely can I keep hold of the last poor comfort of believing that he still knows me. This almost complete unconsciousness has not been of more than six month's standing, though more than two years have elapsed since he has written even his name. After the death of his first wife, 'Edith,' of his first love, who was for several years insane, his health was terribly shaken. Yet for the greater part of a year that he spent with me in Hampshire, my former home, it seemed perfectly re-established, and he used to say, 'it had surely pleased God that the last years of his life should be happy.' But the Almighty's will was otherwise. The little cloud soon appeared which was in no long time to overshadow all. In the blackness of its shadow we still live, and shall pass from under it only through the portals of the grave. The last three years have done on me the work of twenty. The one sole business of my life is that which I verily believe keeps the life in me-the guardianship of my dear, helpless, unconscious husband."

A WISE CHOICE

I'll tell you, friend, what sort of wife,
Whene'er I scan this scene of life,
Inspires my waking schemes,
And when I sleep, with form so light,
Dances before my ravished sight,
In sweet, aerial dreams.

The rose its blushes need not lend,
Not yet the lily with them blend,
To captivate my eyes.

Give me a cheek the heart obeys,
And, sweetly mutable, displays
Its feelings as they rise;

Features, where pensive, more than gay,
Save when a rising smile doth play,
The sober thought you see ;
Eyes that all soft and tender seem,
And kind affections round them beam,
But most of all on me.

A form though not of finest mould,
Where yet a something you behold
Unconsciously doth please;

Since this was written, Dr. Southey has died.---Ed.

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Manners all graceful without art,
That to each look and word impart
A modesty and ease.

But still her air, her face, each charm,
Must speak a heart with feeling warm,
And mind inform the whole;

With mind her mantling cheek must glow,
Her voice, her beaming eye must show
An all-inspiring soul.

Ah! could I such a being find,
And were her fate to mine but joined

By Hymen's silken tie,

To her myself, my all I'd give,
For her alone delighted live,

For her consent to die.

Whene'er by anxious gloom oppressed,
On the soft pillow of her breast

My aching head I'd lay;

At her sweet smile each care should cease,
Her kiss infuse a balmy peace,

And drive my griefs away.

In turn, I'd soften all her care,

Each thought, each wish, each feeling share.
Should sickness e'er invade,

My voice should soothe each rising sigh,
My hand the cordial would supply-
I'd watch beside her bed.

Should gathering clouds our sky deform,
My arms should shield her from the storm;
And were its fury hurled,

My bosom to its bolts I'd bare,
In her defence undaunted dare
Defy the opposing world.

Together should our prayers ascend,
Together humbly would we bend,
To praise the Almighty name;
And when I saw her kindling eye
Beam upward to her native sky,

My soul should catch the flame.

Thus nothing should our hearts divide,
But on our years serenely glide,

And all to love be given;

And when life's little scene was o'er,
We'd part to meet and part no more,

But live and love in heaven.-FRISBIE.

THE BIBLE.

133

[Written for the Young Lady's Friend.]

THE BIBLE-WOMAN'S BEST FRIEND.

BY MRS. MARY S. SARGEANT.

How dear to the heart of every woman should be the religion of our Lord Jesus Christ. To this alone is she indebted for the elevated position she occupies in social society. If we look over the various portions of the world and examine the condition of our sex, we shall find, that, just in proportion to the spread of the gospel, and the degree of purity in which it is presented, does its influence raise the condition of woman, and prepare her to fill that happy and useful sphere in which she was originally formed to move. Man, in all the pride and independence of his own unsubdued will and native depravity, confirmed by the demoralizing and hardening influence of infidelity, yields not to woman the place assigned her by the God of the bible, but reduces her privileges and rights, in proportion as the light and power of the bible are reduced, until she is made to take the place of a mere beast of burden, and deprived of all intellectual and social enjoyments. Society, also, is, at the same time, deprived of the mellowing and modifying power of female virtue and influence. And, just so far as any female gives countenance to those principles which depreciate the worth and importance of the religion of the Savior, is she giving her voice and influence against that source from which she derives all the happiness she enjoys in the various relations she sustains in life, and all the consideration which is awarded to her in the position she now occupies in society.

Let the ladies of the present day, which is a day of infidel effort, reflect well on their destiny and their duty, and guard the holy altars of religion as they would their own most sacred rights and the happiness and honor of MAN.

To the consideration of young ladies, especially, does this subject present itself. It is invested with all the importance which it is possible to throw round any subject involving not only their own individual happiness and well-being, in time and eternity, but the physical, intellectual and moral elevation of their sex. Cherish then, young ladies, the bible and its sacred principles, as your choicest treasure; as a legacy bequeathed you by God for your especial benefit, and conferring on you a title to such blessings and privileges as are unknown to woman in an infidel or heathen world. Mark every

134

THE WIDOW'S MITE.

attempt made to wrest this treasure from you, or to weaken your confidence in its value, however specious the pretext, or well-disguised the temptation; and withdraw from such an influence as you would from your deadliest foe. On you devolves very great responsibilities; for, by the example and influence of young ladies, the character and principles of all young men are more or less either purified or vitiated, according as their associations are formed. Let then your principles and practice, ever be in strict accordance with the gospel of Christ, yielding nothing to infidelity in any of the plausible forms it assumes, remembering that your sphere of action is a very important one, however humble or elevated your station.

The domestic associations afford the fittest opportunities of convincing the skeptic and winning the dissolute, by a presentation of the excellencies of religion in a practical exhibition of its power and holy influences. Then diligently attend to the improvement of your mind and manners by study and the cultivation of every appropriate accomplishment, making it your object to bring all to subserve the great cause of recommending the religion of the Bible.

Lowell, Mass., May, 1843.

THE WIDOW'S MITÉ.

BY MONTGOMERY.

Amid the pompous crowd

Of rich adorers, came an humble form;
A widow, meek as poverty doth make
Her children! with a look of sad content,
Her mite within the treasure heap she cast-
Then, timidly, as bashful twilight, stole
From out the temple. But her lowly gift
Was witnessed by an Eye whose mercy views
In motive, all which consecrates a deed
To goodness. He blessed the widow's mite
Beyond the gifts abounding wealth bestowed.
Thus is it, Lord, with Thee. The heart is thine,
And all the world of hidden action, there
Works in Thy sight, like waves beneath the sun,
Conspicuous; and a thousand nameless acts
Which lurk in lowly secrecy, and die
Unnoticed, like the trodden flowers which fall
Beneath a proud man's foot, to Thee are known,
And written with a sun-beam in the book
Of life, where mercy fills the brightest pages!

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