W 272 





Hi,,,, 



'Why should i 





■ of < 







TO MY MOTHER. 

 M\ mothci: Ql Lb] hoi] DaDM 

 One* mere I'm BiUinc by lb) Bide 

 Again thine bfd, so fall or pure 

 Which, with tbelrfenth I 



DEATH OF A CHILD. 



No blighting frost li there- 

 Can you not trust jour darling 

 T.i Oh kind Snepberd'seareV" 



PlainTalks to American Womeo.--No.17. 



Dis 





mary education of Ibeir children be conducted 

 under their own eye ; but there will be many 

 whose circumstances will not permit this, and 

 others who may not think it a' matter of sufficient 

 importance to cause them to change the course 

 they have already adopted, of relying principally 

 upon the Common School and its influences, for 

 their mental culture. To such, then, is this article 

 particularly addressed. 



It may not have occurred to all of you, that the 

 mother* who patronize a District School can have 

 any material influence in determining its charac- 

 ter. Their voices are not heard at the school- 

 meeting; they are not chosen members of the 

 school-board— how, then, can they greatly pro- 

 mote its interests— how can they effect any needed 



They may, if necessary, cull a school-meeting 

 of their own, and decide what kind of a school it 

 ought to be, nnd that it mwt be sustained. They 

 may pass resolutions relative to the character and 

 [|ii ali lie at ions needed by the teacher who is to be 

 intrusted with the education of their children, 

 the arrangements necessary for the comfort of the 

 pupils, and their advancement in knowledge— is 

 short, they may resolve what shall be the stand- 

 ard at which their school shall aim, nod set them- 

 selves vigorously at work to bring about ite 

 attainment. The report of their meeting being 

 presented at the regular annual school-meeting of 

 the fathers and brothers, would be likely to influ- 

 ence tfair action in a great degree. If the 

 mothers had decided that no person but one of 

 high qualifications should be intrusted with a 

 responsibility so great as the instruction of their 

 children, the school-board would hardly dare 

 employ an inefficient teacher, lest the school 

 should be -non est." The voters of the district 

 would be ashamed to refuse to vote a tax for the 

 repairs of the house, or the apparatus which the 

 mothers had unanimously resolved necessary for 

 the comfort and progress of the school. 



But not alone by the influence they might exert 

 upon the minds of those thus having the interests 

 of the school particularly in charge, can the 

 mothers advance those interests. They should 

 establish "a regular system of school visitation," 

 some one or more of their number being present, 

 at least weekly, to see what is being done, call the 

 attention of tho teacher to any errors observed in 

 his management or system of instruction, and 

 give encouragement to both teacher and scholars. 

 Undemanding this plan of the mothers, how 

 careful would the teacher be in adopting the best 

 methods of teaching of which he could avail him- 

 self; and he who might be so favored as to be 

 approved by tliem, would feel that he had a right 

 arm of strength upon which to rely, and wi 

 giid himself daily for his toil with courage s 

 thcresult. And the children, knowing that 

 eyes of their parents were continually marking 

 their progress, would be much more ambitious 

 excel, than wbero no parental approbation w 



, perhaps, " we mothers have 



tyour Common 



What, not even lime to see" 



Schools are what thej SUOuld bet Your ..... 



rosy have excused yon r rom Opting an extended 



system of homo educate, but tb oy cerluioly 



°u from the- responsibility f 



ntellectual 



uofthos 



in yourchildrg 



school- ho u! 

 for the little 

 the subject of " the beautiful and tasteful 



of the 

 of "the parlor? Mfchl >-' the vase of flowers 

 enrich the table, the wallfl display not only well- 



,..,,,.. i , , , - . I .:■■.,..; i . . , . ■ ' ' ' 



vings of the moralist, sage, orator, or 

 of bis Country ! It U alleged that the expenses 

 thus incurred would bo thrown away, und the 

 beautiful objects defaced. This is b«I ■ oeeeaaarj 



"I have beCD informed by teachers who had 

 made the greatest advances towards appropriate 



and elegant accommodations f< ir their pupils, that 

 it was not so. They said il was easier to enforce 

 habits of neatness and order among objecis whose 

 taste and value made them worthy of care, than 

 amid the parsimony of apparatus, whose pitiful 



m,,,.-, operates as a toiuplntiou lo waste nnd 



destroy. 



•'Let the communities now so anxious lo raise 

 the standard of Education, venture the experiment 

 of a more liberal adornment of their dwellings. Let 

 Klein pot more faith in that respect for the beauti- 

 ful which really exist* in tho young heart, and 

 requires only to bo called forth and nurtured 

 to bet-time an ally of virtue nnd a handmaid to 

 religion. Knowledge has a more imposing effect 

 on the young mind wtieu it stands like the Apostle 

 at the gate of tha*Vemple. Memory looks hack to 

 it more joyously fr*oi the distant or desolated 

 tracks of life, for the bright scenery of its early 



" I hope the time is coming when eVcry isolated 

 village -cuool-honsa shall bo an Atlic temple, on 

 whose exterior the occupant may study the prin- 

 ciples of symmetry und grace. Why need the 

 structures where the young are initiated into 

 those virtues which make life beautiful, be divorced 

 from taste and comfort V Do any reply that the 

 perception of the beautiful is but a luxurious sen- 

 sation, and may be dispensed with in systems of 

 education which this age of utility establishes? 

 Is not the culture the more demanded to throw a 

 healthful leaven into tbc mass of society, and to 

 serve as some counterpoise for tbal love of accu- 

 mulation which pervades every rank, and spreads, 

 even in consecrated places, the tables of the money 

 changers. 



" In ancient times the appreciation of whatever 

 was beautiful in the frame of Nature was account- 

 ed salutary by sages and philosophers. Galen 

 says, ' He who has two loaves of bread, let him 

 sell one and buy flowers, for bread is food for the 

 body, but flowers tire food for the soul.' If the 

 'perception of the beautiful' maybe made con- 

 noire to present and future happiness, if it have 

 tendency to refine and sublimate the character, 

 ughl it not to receive culture throughout the 

 whole process of education ? It takes root, moat 

 taturally and deeply, in the simple and loving 

 leart; and is, therefore, peculiarly fitted to the 

 arly years of life, when, to borrow the words of a 



odor by the band, and walks in through tho open 

 door of the child's heart.' " 

 Now may not the united efforts of the mothers 

 complisb very much in each district, in this 

 rection ? Could tbey not cause young trees, 

 d shrubbery, and fluwers to be transplanted to 

 e environs of the school ediflce ? IT there is no 

 nee to protect them, can they not contrive some 

 ly to secure one ? Can they not add very much 

 the ullnii.divcncss of (he interior, by placing 

 ion the floor a plain rag-carpet, the workman- 

 ship of their own hands? Can they not, with 

 very little trouble, curtain the windows, and place 



le work, with how little actual outlay of money 

 light the school-room be made a delightful place, 

 place where the children would lovo to congrc- 

 utc, and whose influence would shed a refinement 

 rer their characters, which the bare, broken 

 ■alls, cob-webhed windows, and unclean floors 

 could never exert — a place where tho mothers 

 spend in] occasional after- 



dren, observing their deportment, and assisting in 



Mothers, "rouse to" this "work of high and 

 holy love!" It is worthy your attention. What 

 subject, external to her own salvation, can be of 

 greater moment to the mother than the proper 

 unfolding nnd development of her children's na- 

 tures? How can she regard as of permanent im- 

 portance those trifles which so frequently engage 

 her attention? Does she not feel that her off- 

 spring are the ioeslimable gift of Goo— unpolish- 

 ed gems, which she may trample in the dust, or 

 whose brilliancy she may so develop, and, by the 

 assistance of the Giver, improve, that they shall 

 be worthy a place in the diadem of the Savior, 



i fort 



Let 



her realise that she must, at a future day, render 

 account for the manner in which she has discharg- 

 ed her duty lo those committed to her trust, and 



Life In inglorious i 





but " work while the day lasts," that a noble e 

 fice may arise there which shall be forever gold 

 with the glory streaming from the Throne of Gi 



A Sweet Votes.— A sweet voice is IndispenM- 

 ble to o woman ; I do not think I can describe it. 

 It ia not inconsistent with great vivacity, but is 

 often the gift of the gentle ond unobstrusive. 

 Loudness or rapidity is incompatible with it. Il 

 is low, but not guttural — deliberate, but not slow. 

 Every syllable is distinctly heard, but they follow 

 each other like drops from a fountain. It is like 

 the cooing of a dove, not shrill, nor even clear, but 

 uttered with that subdued and touching readiness 

 which every voice assumes in moments of deep 

 feeling or tenderness. It is a glorious gift in 

 woman— I should be won by it more than by 

 beauty— more even than by talent, were it possi- 

 ble to separate them. But I never heard a deep, 

 sweet voice from a weak woman. It is the organ 

 ong feelings and of thought* which have 



lai 



hushes, - 



the bosom till their sacredness almost 



SUMMER'S DEPARTURE. 



be last day of .uimner-u level, and I 

 ;lorle« mat thine on a ndd-eummcr nig 

 lore loomed amillng In beauty serene 



In the- freedom of youth, and with spirits as gsy 



That In spring-Huie, when swollen, < 



tho forest wo saw ai their play, 

 s thin Bin.'.] through aisles dim un 

 s mlghl linger In rural delight, 

 ^Iraeorn-cupsqulrklyatulghl. 



ich where a king might In pomp 



d wandered In dreamy delay, 

 wild flowers in a brilliant boqucl, 

 \ wreath, like the eages of yore, 



Qa, ye wbo In cities are tolling away, 



Where brick walls and blaok smoke quench the llg 



Would ye quaff tho rich goblet of beauty and beat 



Which nofWora can purchase, nor glittering wei 



And feel the clad hopalse- which nature doth yield 

 Go bask In the sunsmno-go muse on the straud- 

 Aud be grateful lo Gon/or tho works of hU hand. 



HOW TO MEET LIFE. 



haiiiuiniv i.- subject. A few years, at nio-d, number 

 the term of our pilgrimage, and shorter and short- 

 er seem the years, as we hasten on our way. Brief, 



I, ond we all 1 





iuK limes, that change, decay und death .ire written 

 on all things. Each one of us, as compared with 



portance than a grain of sand on the sea shore, or 

 a blade of grass in the fields, and comparatively 

 few immortal names will be recorded for the re- 

 membrance or veneration of coming millions. 



Our dearest friends sink into the grave by our 

 side, ond we wake to lind our fondest hopes and 

 iinticiputiiiiis wrecked, or vanished. The friend- 

 ship, the love we clung to aud trusted, turns to 

 coldness or dislike— tho change may be in our- 

 selves, und we know it not. Why do we, miserable 

 creatures of a day, spend a moment in repining 

 for fancied advantages of name, or station? To 

 seek nil the good we can is our duty, and to 

 acquire all the capacity and fitness for life in our 

 power. But to sigh for what is beyond our reach, 

 to covet beauty, or praise, or fame, or wealth— and 

 carry a morose and lowering brow, how will it 

 lessen our trials, or open the way to brighter days? 

 Which of us is satisfied with our condition as it is? 

 And which ofus has not to bear but dens laid upon us 

 thro' the ignorance or thoughtlessness of others? 

 Verily, we may not choose a sunny, flowery path, 

 nor even can we find unalloyed peace and happi- 



life. Then let us take life as it comes. If storms 



and difficulties beset cur way, endeavor to preserve 

 a serene temper. If joys and blessings come un- 

 expectedly, receive them with a thankful heart. 



Sometimes a wise course will avert the cloud 

 that threatened. Let us seek wisdom, so that 

 whether our way be prosperous or adverse, we may 

 walk calmly, unmoved by envy or detraction. — 

 Whatever moy be the future in the world hereafter 

 we know not^we are taught to hope it is not a 

 repetition of the errors, the blindness, the perver- 

 sity which poisons what might, and should be, a 

 lieantifiil, happy, and desirable existence. Let us 

 believe we shall yet see clearly and live rightly. 



Violbxcb and Tiu'th.— It is a strange and U'di, his 

 war, when violence attempts to vanquish truth. 

 All tbc efforts of violence cannot weaken truth, 

 and only servo to give it fresh vigor. All the 

 rights of truth cannot arrest violence, and only 

 serve to exasperate it. When force meets force, 

 the weaker must succumb to the stronger; when 

 argument is opposed to argument, the solid and 

 convincing triumph over the empty and false; but 

 violence and verity can make no impress on each 

 other. Let none suppose, however, that the two 

 are therefore equal to each other, for there is this 

 vast difference between them, that violence has a 

 certain course to run, limited by the appointment 

 of heaven, which overrules its effects lo the glory 

 of the truth which it assails ; whereas verity en- 

 dures forever, and triumphs over its enemies, be- 

 ing eternal and almighty as God himself. — J\ucal. 



SOLITUDE. 



Eni.oi.its, sonnets, and invocations have erst 

 proclaimed the beauties, benefits, and deligtu ol 

 solitude. It comes to us n delightful rest — a 



breathing pause iu the steep nnd rugged ascent 



a moment's culm in life's seething vortex. For 

 this we appreciate and seek it. Yet we look with 

 suspicion and something of awe on him who, dis- 

 gusted at life'* rcu'luiions, loathing the world 

 Spurns it from him a paltry bubble, and in 



waits the seating of the book. The gloomy recluse 

 who turns his back upi.ii society, and from the dark 

 fastoessesof his solitude hurls bitter taunts and 

 stinging rebukes at the errors audf.ulings of his fel- 

 luws, ii, to us, a repulsive vampire, fattening on the 

 wrongs aud evils of bis brethren, from whom no 

 good can emanate. All the shining virtues, sweet 





have not there their origin or abode. Too sure 

 has reody evidence established solitude the birth- 

 place of mischief. Evil thoughts are born in 

 secret, wicked plans devised, and deadly results 

 follow. Devils hold secret orgies. Wrong and 

 error, dark purpose and deadly deeds, have their 

 origin, education and maturity in silence and 

 secret. Alone with his evil thoughts and dark 

 fancies, tho assassin arranges his vile plans, and 

 under night's filling darkness aud secrecy, fulfills 

 his terrible purpose. The crafty wolf and stealthy 

 anaconda spring from hidden solitudes upon the 

 innocent, unsuspecting victim, and these may 

 find their counterpart in hnmnn society. 



It is well for man at times to isolate himself 

 lrom his surroundings, and hold severe coi 

 nion with himself,— ask himself how far the pages 

 of experience are perused to his profit nod advance 

 ment. How much of good is learned— how much of 

 charity and kindness has he passed on the othei 

 side,— and if ho discover n mission appointed him, 

 there, undisturbed, digest his plans for its noble 

 fulfillment. There, too, may we seek the s 

 — search out the cause of the wide extensi 

 error, crime, and suffering, whose lengthening 

 shadows arc veiling our country in shame and 

 gloom, and rouse our ability to alleviate or remove. 

 Long continued solitude makes one morose, fret- 

 ful, jealous— anything but a pleasant companion 

 to mingle again in society. Unused to respecting 

 other- rights, and forgetful of that mutual de- 

 pender.ee co-Mfatent with society, the recluse 



To such resu"s -ihTude can present no lego] 

 claims, and crrnnoly is not, therefore, deserving 

 sounding pcao, or pompous eulogy. 



Bbh BlTRD( 



WHINING. 



There is a class of persons in this world, by nc 

 means small, whose prominent peculiarity is whin- 

 ing. They whine because they are poor, or if rich. 

 because they have no health to enjoy their riches: 



because it is too rainy; they whine because they 

 have "no luck" and others" prosperity exceeds 

 theirs ; they whine because some friends have died 

 and they are still living, they whine because they 

 have aches and pains, and have aches and pains 

 because they whine, and they whine no one can 

 tell why. Now, I would like to say a word tc 

 these whining persons. 



First, Stop whining. It is of no use— this ever 

 lasting complaining, fretting, scolding, fault-find- 

 ing and whining. Why, you are the most deluded 

 set of creatures that ever lived. Did you not know 

 that it is a well-sc tiled principle of physiology and 

 common sense, that these habits are more exhaus- 

 tive of nervous vitality than almost any other 

 violation of physiological law? And do you 

 know that life is pretty much as you take it and 

 make it? You can make it bright, sunshiu; 

 you can make it dark, shadowy. This life is m 

 only to be disciplinary— to fit us for a higher and 

 purer state of being. Then stop whining and fret- 

 ting, and "go on your way rejoicing." 



Second, Sing the song of life cheerily. Dark 

 Do you hear yonder bird singing joyously its merry 

 carols, as it hops from bough to bough in i 

 native forest-home? Imitoto it! Take up yoi 

 song of life, using it joyously and bravely, Sii 

 on, though you feel it not. You are amiserabl 

 nervous dyspeptic, in wrong relations to yourself 

 and all God's universe, and that's all that ails 

 Then stop short, lake up the song of life, nod 

 off forever that whine of death. 



" A merry heart doeth good like a medicine 

 a broken spirit drietb up the bones." Live sii 

 cheerfully and trustingly ; and, by-and-by, your 

 troubles "will take to themselves wings ond fly 

 away." You will gradually grow more and 

 into harmony with the natural order of things, and 

 tho bright light of heaven will shine pleasautly 

 down into your souls aud baptize them into new 

 life.— Life Illuetrated. 



Past Tnouni,K.s.— Don't barp on past troubles 

 When we see a pale, nervous woman, in the midsl 

 of her friends, preferring to entertain them with 

 a list of tho racking pains she has suffered, to ti 

 saunter in God's free air and sunshine, we cannot 

 wonder that the rose returns not to her blanched 

 cheek. Why is it to some these memories are 

 very meat and drink? Tbey consume them— the 

 bitter agony is acted over and over again, the tear 

 thrice shed, the place cherished where such a 

 dreadful Ihing occurred— the scar fondly petted 

 that tolls of the almost fatal knife. They gasp 

 over, and yet cling to them. 



idness.— The goodness of people around vis 

 all a mask. Tbero is a great deal that is as 

 unding brass and the tinkling cymbal; but, 

 e thanked, there is a great deal that is true, 

 musio with the rest of it- I believe, in fact, 



than they really are. I believe that the 

 man who has stood before his fellow-men as the 

 worst man, is conceived by them to be worse than 

 he really is. I believe there is some vein of light 

 in tbo darkest heart, some extenuating incidents 

 in the basest life.— B. H, Chopin . 



thai I 



OTJE GARDEN. 



We have each of us got one, reader,— a garden. 

 of the heart. Many are the flowers, but I fear 

 there are more weeds. Sometimes cbilliog winds 

 sweep through it— blighting all the blossoms.— 



The leaves become faded and crisp, emitting no 

 fragrance. This oflenest happens in mature life, 



I ga7e upon the little prattler by my aide with 

 sad forebodings of what may be. Her rosy face 

 looks up very confidingly from its sunny frame of 

 curls, and while I press a kiss upon tho little 

 mouth, a prayer goes up from my soul that " Mirr- 

 Kib's garden may ever he bright with the flowers 

 of affection, and the little 'Hope-bird' ever sing 

 as gaily upon the green sprays of Trust." Trust ! 



It is a cool fountain upon the dusty highway of 

 Life, and its rainbow loam reflects the light which 

 streams through the windows of the Future. — 

 There are many smooth paths winding Ihrough 

 " our gardens," nnd Joy loves to dance therein to 

 the music of Hope and Love; but this happy 

 visitor often flees from the presence of a pale, sad- 

 eyed stranger, whose veil of sorrow ia woven 

 with tears. We cannot welcome her cordially, 

 even if her first words are, " Your light affliction, 

 which is but for a moment, workelh out for yon 

 a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." 

 No I The eye of faith is dim— our spirit's bell 

 is tolling the knell of cherished hopes, and we 



wings and now dark despair broods o'er us. We 

 forget that 



" Behind a frowning Providence 

 He bides a smiling face." 

 There are no more singing birds fluttering through 

 "our garden" — silent and desolate, it only echoes 

 that slow, dismal, tolling — tolling. The flowers 

 are almost crushed by the blinding " tear-rain ;" 

 but when the storm has passed we can see the 

 blessed baptismal, in the freshness and purity of 

 each blossom. 



Oh, Earth's sorrowing ones, who arc walking 

 with lorn and bleeding feet over a thorny path- 

 way, " look 'out for the light.'" "Night brings 

 out stars as Sorrows show us Truths." Each 

 bears a new blessing in her hand for some poor 

 mortal ! We should toke comfort from this, know- 

 ing that our turn will come sooner or later, never 

 forgetting that "our gifts" are sometimes in dis- 

 guise, a. P. D. 



ANTICIPATING EVLTB. 



Ekjov the present, whatsoever it may be, and 

 be not solicitous for the future; for if you take 



forward towards to-morrow's events, yon are in a 

 restless condition. It is like refusing to quench 

 your present thirst by fearing you shall want 

 drink the next day. If it be well to-day, il is 

 madness to make the present miserable by fearing 

 it may be ill to-morrow— when yon are full of to- 

 day's dinner, to fear that you shall want the next 

 day's supper; for it may be you shall not, and 

 then to what purpose was this day's affliction!— 

 But if to-morrow you shall want, your sorrow will 

 come time enough, though you do not hasten it ; 

 let your trouble tarry till its day conies. But if it 

 chance to be ill to day, do not increase it by the 

 cares of tomorrow. Enjoy the blcssiogs of this 

 day, if God send them, and the evils of it bear 

 patiently and sweetly ; for this day is only ours— 

 we are dead to yesterday, and we are not born to 

 tho morrow. He, therefore, is wise that enjoys as 

 much as is possible; and if only that day's trouble 

 leans upon him, it is singular and finite. "Suffi- 

 cient to the day (said Christ) is tbo evil thereof;" 

 sufficient, but not intolerable. But if we look 

 abroad, and bring into one day's thoughts the evil 

 of many, certain and uncertain, what will be and 

 what will never be, our load will be as intolerable 

 as it is unreasonable.— Jeremy Taylor, 



Pbacb. — Peace is better than joj 

 uneasy guest, and always on tiptoe t 

 tires and wears us out, and yet keeps us e 

 ing that the next moment it will be gone- 



part. It 



jbausts our strength, 



lougbt. Therefore let 



pre;- for peaje. "n: .be gif-V 3od-promi«<l 



:,ll Hi. .I.ihlr-n ; .»■ '■ -«■ I"""" ">»« be»U 



.hull not pine <•>' '"!■ """ Jgh '" '"' SM ™'° s ' 



touch „, while «.l«"7 »"»»•"<'■ 



