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hallow every place in which il mw«. breathe round nature an odour more exquisite than the perfumes of it a tint more magical than the Wash of morninx " 41 It is the rift of POETRY and to shed Front ttie Museum of Foreym Literature and Science. THE DESTROYER. BY MISS ELIZA RENNIE. He came not with the glittering sword, He came not with the spear, Nor brandish'd weapon in his hand To bid the lovely fear. The bloom of youth was on his cheek And sparkled in his eye; But shrouded in his youthful soul Were •bought« of darkest dye! He grappled not with foes, nor sought The battle's stormy heat, W*here the conquer'd and the conqueror find A gory winding-sheet; Oh! better that in combat he Had huil'd death's fatal blow, Than aim'd at woman's trusting breast The shaft which laid her low! He came to her with gentle words, And smiled love's witching smile; Sbe could not deem 'neath all his There lurk'd the taint of guile. For none could look on him, and think That he too would deceive; And none could see her angel form, And think that she must grieve. But soon, his solemn oaths forgot, He left her to her doom; Nor reck'd if wrong and falsehood led The guiltless to her tomb. She struggled on, but dark and drear Her young life crept away; She saw each hope proved false by time, Each link with joy decav ! She faded fast, yet silently, As flowers beneath the blast; Sbe breathed no murmur, shed no tear. But loved him to the last. She cursed not her destroyer—him Who closed her azure eye; She loved when death gnaw'd at her heart, And bless'd with life's last sigh! s, . ; ! ! I i ! ! ! I [ t I j ; I ; From the Forest Me Not. ON A CHILD KILLED BY LIGHTNING BY JOHN CLARE. As fearless as a cherub's rest Now safe above the cloud, A babe lay on its mother's breast, When thunders roar'd aloud. * It started not to hear the crash, But held it« little hand Up at the lightning'« fearful flash, To catch the burning brand. The tender mother held her breath, In more than grief awhile, To think, the thing that brought its death Should cause her babe to smile. Ay, it did smile a heavenly smile, To see the lightning play; Well might she 6hriek when it turn'd pa!e, And yet it smiled in clay. O woman! the dread storm was given To be to each a friend: It took thy infant pure to heaven, Left the#*.impure, to mend. Thus Providence will oft appear From God'« own mouth to preach; Ah! would we were as prone to hear • As Mercy is to teach! j I j ; ! From the Forpei Me Not THE MATRIMONIAL RULE. •NttCRIBED IN THE ALBUM OF A YOUNG LADY ON THE EVE OF MARRIAGE. *Tis morning!—o'er the new-waked earth The sun his brightest radiance flings, And nought is heard save sound« of mirth. And all around with gladness rings, Anon light clouds begin to rise, While eddying breezes sweep along; Dark, and more dark, they veil the skies, And storm-winds drown the voice of song. a a So lady, do we often see The morn of matrimonial life All smiles, all joy, all gaiety, Its noon obscured by feuds and strife. But would you know a charm of power To assure the sunshine of the heart, To break the tempests that will lower, To blunt the point of discord's dart— Bear and forbear! —no wiser given Than this short rule, which, practised well, Makes marriage e'en on earth a beav'n; Neglected—turns it to a bell. THE CHILD'S FIRST GRIEF. BY MRS. HEM ANS. " Oh! call my brother back to me, I cannot play alone; The summer comes, with flower and bee,— Where is my brother gone ? " The Butterfly is glancing bright Across the sunbeam's track: I care not now to chase its flight— Ob! call my brother back! "The flowers run wild—the flowers we sowed Around our garden-tree; Our vine is drooping with its load— Oh! call him back to me!" " He would not hear my voice, fair child, He may not come to thee, The face that once like spring-tiine smil'd, On earth no more thou'lt see. " A rose's brief, bright life of joy— Such unto him was given;— Go! thou must play alone, my boy! Thy brother 19 in heaven." " Arid has he left his birds and flow*ers ? And must I call in vain ? And through the long long 3ummer hours Will he not come again ? " And by the brook, and in the glade, Are all our wanderings o'er ?— Oh' while my brother with me play'd, Would I had lov'd him more!" YANKEE RETORT. F. S. Soon afterthe revolutionary war, Captain P-, a brave Yankee officer, was at St. Petersburg, in Russia, and while there accepted an invitation to dine; there was a large nutn . ber at table, and among the rest was an English ladv, who ; wished to appear one of the knowing ones. This lady, on ! ! understanding that an American was one of the guests, ex pressed to one of her friends a determination to quiz him. ! She fastened on him like a tigress, making many inquiries re I specling our habits, customs! dress, manners, 'and inodes of i life, education, amusements, &c. To alt tier inquiries Capt. P. gaie answers that satisfied all the company, except the ! lady; she was determined not to be satisfied, and the follow ! ing dialogue took place: ! Lady. Have the rich people in your country any carria ges ? for I suppose there are some that call themselves rich. I Copt. P. My residence is m a small town upon an island [ where there are but few carriages kept, but in larger towns t and cities on the main land there are a number kept suited to I our republican manners. j Lady. I can't think where you find drivers—I should not ; think the Americans knew how to drive a coach. I Capt. P. We find no difficulty on that account, madam: ; we can have plenty of drivers by sending to England for them. Lady, (sneaking very quick) I think the Americans ought to drive the English, instead of English driving the Ameri cans. t Capt. P. We did madam in the late war; but since peace we permit the English to drive us. The lady, half choked with anger, stood mute a minute and left the room, w hispering to her friend " the Yankees are too much for us in the cabinet as well as in the field." A little lawyer appearing as evidence in court, was j asked by a gigantic counsellor, what profession lie was of ; and having replied that he was an attorney, I "You a lawyer!" said Brief, "why I can put you in j my pocket." " Very likely you may, (rejoined the ; other.) and if you do you will have more law in your ! pocket than you have in your head." I 1 The mind is like a trunk; if well packed, it holds almost every thing; ,f ill packed, next to nothmg. Weak people are apt to be posittve. A n^v 1 1 'mind Is* mo ura I ly'suspicio us. Anger restrained is conquest gained. A day well spent secures repose. i EXTRACTS. " A woman that affecta to dispute, to decide, to dictate on every subject, that watches or makes opportunities of throw, ing out scraps of literature or shreds of philosophy in every company, that engrosses the conversation as if she alone were qualified to entertain, that betrays, in short, a boundless in. temperance of tongue, together with an inextinguishable pas. for shining by the splendor of her supposed talents, such a woman is truly insufferable. At first, perhaps, she inav be considered merely as an object of ridicule, but she soon growi into an object of aversion. Be assured, however, that where a character much knowledge but of too little. The deep river Howe with a noble stillness, w hile the shallow stream runs babbling along. Suspicious of her own deficiency, the pedant we de. scribe suspects lest you should discover it, but instead of learning caution from that consciousness, she strives to dazzle you with the little she does know, or else, what is more pro bable, elated with that which to her circumscribed view pears great, she cannot restrain herself from displaying it all occasions; w hen farther progress and higher ground would have taught her modesty, by showing her immense regions of truth yet untravelled, of which she had no conception be fore." " If young women waste in trivial amusement the prime season for improvement, which is between the ages of sixteen and twenty, they will hereafter bitterly regret the loss, when they come to feel themselves inferior in knowledge to almost every one they converse with; and above all, if they should ever be mothers, when they feel their own inability to direct and assist the pursuits of their children, they will then find ignorance a severe mortification and a real evil. Let this animate their industry; and let not a modest opinion of their own capacities be a discouragement to their endeavors after knowledge. A moderate understanding with diligent and well directed application will go much farther than a more lively genius, if attended with that impatience and inatten tion which too often accompany quick parts. It is not fir want of capacity that so many women are such trifling, in sipid companions, so ill qualified for the conversation and friendship of a sensible man, or for the task of governing and instructing a family ; it is much offener from the neglect of exercising the talents which they really have, and from omit ting to cultivate a taste for intellectual improvement: by this neglect they lose the sinterest of pleasures, a pleasure which would remain when almost every other forsakes them, of which neither fortune nor age can deprive them, and which would be a comfort and resource in almost every possible situation in life." Journal of Education. unnatural appears, it is not the effect of too 01 on . ! °f integrity is a true man. a bold man, and steady man. lie is to be trusted and relied upon. No bribes can corrupt him, no fear daunt him. I Iis word is slotv in u . i : ~ i t . . .i r " g ' but « re. He shines brightest in the fire, and Ins triend hears trom him most when lie most needs him. His courage grows with danger, and con quers opposition by obstinacy. As he cannot be flat tered or frighted into that lie dislikes, so lie hates flat terv and temporising in others. He runs with truth am | not with times—with right and not with might, i • i . , , - ' S P a ]î? r ls soon seen, but too seldom loilotf s (idrive to his Children. INTEGRITY. Integrity is a great and commendable virtue—a man OLDF.N TIME. In 1637, there were but thirty-seven ploughs in all Massachusetts, and the use of these Agricultural im plements was not familiar to all the planters. From t the annals of Salem it appears, in that year, it was agreed bv the town to grant Richard Hutchinson 20 acres of land, in addition to bis share, on condition lie •• set up ploughing." 1639. A sumptuary act of tile General Court pro hibited short sleeves, and required the garments to be leigthened so as to cover the arms to the wrists, and required reformation in " immoderate great breeches, knots of ribbon, broad shoulder bands and tayles, silk rases, double cutis, and ruffs." 1639. I or preventing the miscarriage of letters. I it is ordered that notice he given, that Richard Fair 1 banks, his house in Boston, is the piace appointed for all letters which are brought from beyond the seas, or are to be sent thither, are to be brought unto him, and he is allowed for every such letter Id., and must an swer all miscarriages through his own neglect in this kind, provided that no man shall be obliged to bring his letters thither, unless he please." . 1643. The Court order that, in the election of as sistants, Indian bean? should be used instead of paper, i the white to be alfirmative and the black negative.