"This aching void within my heart, "No more shall mortal passion press I'm thine; thou'rt mine. Deign heaven to bless Her pencil fills the Poet's fingers, Along her neck one ringlet lingers, Her rounded arm a bracelet covers, While o'er her beauty's spirit hovers. There is poetry in the above lines,-but while we consider the poetry of life as forming a large item in our bill of fare,' it will hardly do to make it the ground of a contract for the whole. Exclusiveness is not a part of our system--and we would advise our friend Beatrice to seek out more substantial objects of affection than stars and sunbeams :--unless the terms are used as metaphors—when there can be no objection to them, either as titles or parties in a treaty !--ED. For the Microcos:n. THE OLD FAMILY BIBLE. "The cheerful supper done, with serious face The sire turns o'er with patriarchal grace The big hall bible once his father's pride." BURNS. SOMBRE, ponderous, well-worn folio!-Thy very covers invoke contemplations of the past, and every mark has a pensive history. Reverently let me repose thy weight upon this antique table and pore over thy reminis cences. Here deeply etched upon thy thick binding is some of my own handy work,-strange that it should remain so distinct. "Tis years since these scratches were made, while the scene and recollections of that hour, are fresh upon my memory as these upon the book. It was Sunday—the day's public devotions were past-and the tea table, disencumbered of its paraphernalia, stood in the centre of the clean kitchen whither all the family had assembled, it being the largest apartment in the house, for evening prayer. On this identical old round table, lay this musty volume! The good grandsire had just concluded a chapter, and stood confronting a high-backed mahogany chair, at earlier date one of the parlor aristocracy, but yielding to more fashionable rivals had descended, after a course of years, to the keeping room-and was finally, in company with a black walnut clock, The old Family Bible. 167 degraded to its present sequestered station. Yet still that carved settee maintained its dark dignity, and still the tall time piece, stared grandly from a corner, and clicked away with reproving fidelity. Around stood, or kneeled, our little band, and the grey haired man lifted his voice to heaven. I was a child then,—would I were such again, and as Saturday night according to the moral code of our puritanic forefathers, was consecrated, and our family, like most of the sect, held on to virtuous old customs, I had no play from sun down on the said day, to the twilight of the succeeding Sabbath. Well, the sun had set but my grandsire's prayer went on. I looked to the old clock, and the grim-visaged moon, now on the ascendant, looked at me. I had often been reminded of the visible example of that ever busy orb-and following the injunction at the wrong season, it occurred to me to note down with a pin, which I accidentally held in my fingers, the passing minutes of devotion. I did so, and here are the ten marks. Ten minutes, was that all ?-it seemed longer-besides I had time sufficient to tie the cat's tail to the table leg, for which in boxed ears I obtained a summary reward. What wide minutes they had then! what concise ones, now! How obstinate is time, slow when we would have him fast-quick when we would expand a minute to eternity. I have been a traveler since then, and in various incidents experienced the verity of this observation. “In ten minutes," said the master, looking on his chronometer, as we were bounding among the shallows of Cape Fear, "we shall make the open sea or dash upon yonder barrier of sands." The wind howled through the cordage, like a ravening fiend the waves rolled like young Appennines and smote the ship in thunders as with creaking mast and tightened canvass, she gullied in the waters and scattered the white foam, in cold showers along her decks. What a ten minutes was that! 'twas an hour-yes a day--but, she held her own, and we were rescued. He was my friend, so similar in mind and feelings-that mirror like, he became my test for every grace and sentiment. We had been separated for years and now he was about passing through the place of my residence. I met him at the stage house, we embraced, we hurried over our past lives with the wing of lightning and the eye of a bird-we were allowed ten minutes, the stage returned-so soon? nay it was even beyond the time—and we bade a mutual and long adieu. Did ever ten minutes concentrate so much of exquisite enjoyment? It seemed the fleetness and brightness of a meteor-it was the sun-light in a lens, a rainbow in one drop. But to the old Bible-carefully let me unclose thy pages, thou aged counsellor, thou staid pilot through danger-light-house of the soul-chart of futurity, "There's records of the past in all thy leaves." Affliction and joy-the young convert-the withered christian have all left traces along thy stained and ragged margin. Here is a spot, it may have been a tear-here is a text, and a pencil mark-and here is a leaf turned down-"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord." Trembling with years, shaken with long disease, my aged grandmother received the tidings of the death of a dear daughter, in a foreign land, by a fierce disorder. Her loss was only to be regretted, her exchange incomparable. My grandfather flew to his favorite sciences, to history, to the bold spirits of antiquity, and concealed his sterner sorrows, among the splendid fabrications of the classics. But my grandmother, took her low rocking chair and her spectacles and opened the sacred comforter. Here is the promise that she found —the tear she shed-the very, very leaf she folded. With hand unnerved-by emotion I turn the pages to meet with something, whose mute appeal has dimmed my eyes too, and makes my heart beat quick, and my cheek grow pale. It is a simple tulip-spread wide between the leaves and almost colorless-quite dry, and scentless. A sweet child placed it here a dear little girl, with blue eyes and fine, light hair and a face beaming intelligence, and a voice of untaught music. Yes she plucked it from the garden-here extended it smoothly, and patted it down, with her delicate and miniature palm. Let it remain sympathizing reader-move it not from its place for all the world! She was my little sister! There is a stone in the grave yard go read the story which I cannot tell. I pass on. Here then is the family record. The hand which made these inscriptions, will write no more-and another shall sketch his tale. Yet he led a good long life, he stood while most of the companions of his youth, one by one, like leaves of autumn fell away. Strange faces met him every where, strange customs thwarted his notions, paltry fashions superseded ancient utility, a city overspread the green fields of his boyhood—tall buildings shut out the pleasant light and clear sky, innovations stole in till he scarcely recognized his own mansion-his partner had been long since laid in dustand his "old world" looking-glass, reflected a white-headed, wrinkled old man. He stood as a hoary pillar in a wilderness, from whose base the feeble sands are fast disappearing, while the tall capital looks upward to the sun, and thus awaits the hour of dissolution. He died as we all must--and while adding to the list of departed relatives his first name, let me keep his memory green, as his tomb, his fame spotless as his marble. And now pensively will I close the holy relic, and replace thee, in thy grotesque, and dingy book-case, so long thy station, and sober receptacle. Nor in vain have I communed with thee, if I have gathered one hallowed aspiration from thy script; or, reminded of the dear, bosom-shrined departed, shall be induced to struggle up their path of light, and share, as awhile on earth, their society eternally in heaven. J. W. B. New Haven, 1835. "The true end of education, is, to fit a thinking being for the part he is to perform in life, as the true end of life is to prepare the same being for eternity; so that merely to be well informed is not to be well educated." Improvement the reward of effort. IMPROVEMENT THE REWARD OF EFFORT. 169 THE rising standard of education and dignity to which women are urged, while it constitutes the 'day-star' of their destinies, may have a tendency, in some cases, to dismay and dishearten by the importance and responsibility of its claims. When the truth of woman's influence is presented in various forms,—as that of the mother, moulding, in the early character of the child, the future man to good or evil;—in that of the wife, sharing, sustaining, almost creating the character as well as the happiness of her husband;-in the companion, making the path of life a flowery or a thorny way;-winning the brother to gentleness; encouraging the sister to confidence;-presiding over the social destinies of nations, the acknowledged refining genius of society;-swaying the empire of fashion;--adding great momentum to every moral reform, and aiding every benevolent enterprise, as well as superintending all the minute and trifling wants of life, which would otherwise escape attention and discharge;-rising in the scale of being to share in all the immense interests of human existence, and after faithfully discharging the duties of time, such as have kept the word of faith, looking forward through the redemption of that Savior who never uttered a harsh or condemning sentence against a woman, to share in His presence and favor a glorious Eternity. When we have seen all this array of might and power (with much more) brought through various channels to bear in individual application, we have feared lest some should exclaim against the tide of duty-and be tempted to give up the effort to do what they can, in consequence of what remains undone. We would rather urge them, in view of the glorious end, not to faint at the greatness of the way. We would have them awake to a sense of the dignity and importance of their station, when rightly appreciated and duly sustained, and feel the vastness of the interests which they are called upon to serve. Without an exalted standard, no great effort will ever be attempted. "He who hath highest aim in view, Must dream at first what he will do." Though prejudice arrays itself against them in various ways, though they have to contend with limited and contracted advantages of education, still it is true that nearly all of life's comforts and joys are purchased through the influence and exertions of women. Place a world of men alone by themselveseither young or old bachelors-and although they may live, and live very quietly, their world would probably resemble the board of the "Automaton Chess-Player," and even he could not get along without his "Queen." Prejudice must be overcome by wise and patient effort. The defects of education must be felt and supplied by the individuals who suffer from them. The ostentatious display of superficial knowledge, has in part created, and only serves to increase the evil. Physical science forms but one branch of education. There are greater sciences than any comprised in lines and angles-brighter gems than any mined from the lexicon of the philologist. If you can have but one, choose these. Seek for the hidden springs of action which move the world; examine into the motives as well as the conduct of mankind. Search out the deep things of the human heart-the mysteries of creation, of providence, of mind. You can pursue these studies "by the bright lamp of the southern skies," with only Nature and nature's God for instructors. You can ponder them in the house and by the way-amid toil and sorrow and privation. Store the mind with these natural sciences (and to gain these must be the individual's own will and work)—learn to think, and judge and weigh—approve things excellent, try things that differ, holding fast that which is good, and no one will complain of your limited education. Those who express the opinion that to know how to read and write is enough for a woman, will discover no deficiency;—and may thereby be led to give their confirmation to the fact, that to read and write is enough for a woman. We would not be understood as depreciating human science-we would only supply the want of it with better. We might glean much food for honest pride, in the harvest that is expected from the grain of mustard-seed, were it not much better to find a reward in the consciousness of faithfully discharging the duties of so responsible a station. Every great and noble motive urges women to a higher standard of life and character. They have many friends and champions among the wise and great and good, who sympathize in their trials and their wants, and are ready to forward every consistent plan of improvement. So that it is, and must ever remain, their own fault if they pursue a giddy, trifling career, which stamps upon the mind a littleness that is contented with a gilded butterfly existence. They must rise above the jealousies and rivalries which bind down the soul Wasting its powers, to feed That wretched vanity, which clings Improvement brings its own reward with it-and with every advance in improvement, women will be less disposed to complain that too much is required of them. They have more reason to bless the liberal spirit of the present age, and to regard those who would direct the mind to higher aims and loftier efforts, as their truest friends and greatest benefactors. [From the Ladies' Magazine.] MAY a lady accept the attentions of a gentleman, when she knows, as well as she knows any thing, what the drift of them is—and then laugh at him with impunity? Should not ladies have consciences as well as gentlemen? A gentleman cannot retreat with honor after having made advances-why is a lady to consider herself an exception to the rule? Don't say that ladies cannot know the drift of a gentleman's attentions, nor ask how they can refuse before they are asked: they do know it-much more likely to know too soon than not soon enough-and they can refuse before they are asked-every woman can do it,—and every woman knows she can. Not actively, |