»yv\A,y*v^>^ 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
anemts. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE SCHOLAR’S SEARCH. 
We seek not the pearls of the Ocean— 
We search not for gems of the mine— 
We delve not for gold of the mine; 
But we strive with a purer devotion 
For the treasures of Wisdom divine. 
Our hearts arc not fixed on the fleeting, 
Our spirits not hound to the earth— 
Our souls soar away from the earth— 
For Virtue and Truth they are beating 
A happier measure than mirth. 
We are miners in search of true treasure, 
For the riches of Truth do wo mine— 
For the ore of true knowledge we mine—• 
Assayers—our work ’tis, and pleasure 
The gold from the dross to refine. 
Then give us the wisdom of ages, 
The virtue and boldness of youth— 
The spirit and courage of youth— 
And we upon Time’s marble pages 
Will grave a new record of Truth.— b. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
PLUTARCH-HIS WORKS. 
OR. 
THE COUSINS, 
MR. WHITEHEAD’S WILL. 
[concluded from page 28, Tins number. 
“La, my dear old soul!” interrupted Ellie, 
laughing good-humoredly, “Miss Pamela and 
I think alike in all respects. You don’t think- 
I’djdisobey her, do you? Site told me to come 
here, and here I am. She told me to take the 
dogs for company, and they followed me. Site 
told me to put the pistols in my pocket for 
protection, and here they are. She told me 
that I mustn’t refuse to marry cousin Sam, and 
I don’t mean to. And so, if cousin Sam will 
take me ‘ for better or for worse,’ here I am 
all meekness and obedience! 
you may tell her so—she’ll kill me; tell her to 
be gone. Oh—oh—what a twinge! I wish she 
had it, the Jezebel! and she laughed at me too. 
I’ll never forgive that.” 
“But the forty thousand, Sam,” said Mrs. 
Scrope, sighing deeply; “ think of that, Sam.” 
“ 1 do think of that, mother,” said the misera¬ 
ble Sam; “audit almost breaks my heart, it 
does, to give it, up. I wish she’d give me up ; I 
wish with all my heart that she had taken a dis¬ 
like to me.” 
“ Ah, my darling,” said the fond mother, 
“ you cannot wonder that she does not do that. 
The mortificatiop will be severe enough when 
she has to return to that precious Miss Pamela 
with the tidings that you have refused her.— 
But, after all, she may improve, Sam, my dear, 
and perhaps it is worth while to try; for though 
Time, in its continuous round of change, of 
rapine and destruction, lias ground to atoms 
the proudest productions of ancient learning; 
but still, as if in mockery, has spared a few 
specimens whereby we are made known the 
immensity of our loss, and are left to mourn 
over the annihilation of many a tome of splen¬ 
did genius. We are therefore compelled to 
detach from Poetry — which is, at best, but a 
doubtful and extravagant source of knowledge 
— and infer from Fiction, such matters as arc 
necessary to substantiate History. 
Of all the writers of antiquity, on Morals, 
Philosophy, and History, we may say, perhaps, 
Plutarch was the most worthy of being- 
spared. • His philosophy is natural* and comes 
warm from the heart; his incidents and exam¬ 
ples are always appropriate and touching : 
Indeed, the sympathy lie everywhere expresses, 
and the benevolence he endeavors to inculcate, 
constitute the chief beauties of such of his 
writings as have been preserved, lie united 
himself to no sect, but selected the beauties and 
consistencies of all, to adorn his own philoso¬ 
phy, while he rejected their superfluities of 
form and absurdities of belief. Living at a 
period when the religion of the Bible was con¬ 
fined within the boundaries of Palestine, he 
had no polar star to guide him in his endeavors 
to instruct the world and increase its happi¬ 
ness: Yet, he expressed many of the senti¬ 
ments of Divinity, as if its noble conceptions 
were implanted, originally, in his breast 
But yet, notwithstanding the excellency of 
Plutarch’s works, how neglected are they!— 
The learned and philosophical read, study, and 
pass encomiums upon them; but the triflers, 
the devourers of fiction, who lounge upon sofas 
and weep over imaginary misfortunes, know 
nothing of their merits, nor of the writer; only 
as he may be referred to in the fashionable 
productions of the day. Depraved in taste, it 
cannot perhaps be expected that they can ever 
admire liis inimitable compositions; and they 
thus make recompense for their early mis-edu- 
cation. But the rising generation should be 
protected. The public Libraries, that are 
springing into existence in every section of the 
Union, should be the guardians of the young. 
No novel should disgrace their shelves; but 
History, Philosophy, and Poetry, should em¬ 
brace their contents: and Plutarch should be 
among the first authors placed in the hands of 
youth, to enable them to form a correct taste, 
and lay the foundation for a sound understand¬ 
ing.— L. 
- La! Mrs. Scrope,, - - . . 
you don’t know what a girl 1 am, and how I’ve ! fort J thousand pounds of your own, 
been hmno-ht. „n I mean to turn Scrope Hall j be very convenient to w llluck 
“Mother,” replied Sam, solemnly, “if you 
wish to see me in my grave, you’ll marry me to 
this dreadful woman. Tom Ricks, Miss Pame¬ 
la’s groom, a most respectable man, who has 
lived with Miss Pamela these twenty years, and 
whose wife is cook there—Tom Hicks told me, 
that if ever Miss Ellie Gordon -was my wife, he’d 
not give a brass farthing for my life. 'If she 
marries you, sir, she’ll worry you to death in a 
year-; if you marry her, sir) you’ll get a’-, 
But Tom Hicks didn’t say what, though I guess 
he meant a tartar! NTo, mother, my mind’s 
made up ; I’ll have nothing to do with her, and 
you may tell her so at once. She laughs so 
wildly too, I declare I’m all over skeerie like 
when I hear it. Let her go! let her go!—and 
well rid of her at any cost.” 
“ I)o you really mean to tell me, ma’am, that 
Mr. Samuel Scrope, of Scrope Hall, absolutely 
refuses to marry me?” cried Miss Elspeth Gor¬ 
don, in a voice of high indignation. “ I’ll not 
give him up so easily—no, that I won’t, that I 
“ SHE IS THINE.” 
been brought up. 
out of windows when we are married. Did 
you ever follow the hounds, Sam?—it’s such 
fun!” Sam faintly said “No,” retreating further 
and further, pursued by tire young lady, her 
dogshaving quietly stretched themselves on the 
rug. At length matters reached their climax, 
for Miss Elspeth Gordon, pulling off her gloves, 
placed one lily hand on Sam’s shoulder, and 
with the other began patting his fat, white 
cheeks, saying, in a coaxing tone, “Ducky 
mustn’t be frightened. Ducky will learn to 
leap a five barred, won’t he?—and to ride 
steeple-chase, won’t he, to please Ellie?” 
Blushing scarlet, Sam eluded her gentle 
touch, and rushed from the room, while Mrs. 
Scrope, bewildered and miserable, persuaded 
her singular guest to adjourn to the chamber 
prepared for her reception. She re-issued 
thence in the same attire, merely having cast 1 
iside her slouched hat, and substituted a velvet 
She is thine—the word is spoken; 
Hand to hand and heart to heart! 
Though all other ties are broken, 
Time these bonds shall never part. 
Thou hast taken her in gladness, 
From the altar’s holy shrine; 
0, remember in her sadness, 
She is thine and only thine i 
In so fair a temple never 
Aught of ill can hope to come; 
Good will strive, and striving ever, 
Make so pure a shrine its home. 
Each the other’s love possessing, 
Say wiiat care should cloud the brow ? 
She will be to thee a blessing, 
And a shield to her be thou. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
EARLY MARRIAGES. 
BY MRS. M. W. H. 
cap of conical form in its stead, beneath which i won’t,” and the voice almost rose to a hysterical 
her hair was not visible, while the green spec¬ 
tacles rested on her nose as before. After the 
repast was over, (a repast most uncomfortable 
to Mrs. Scrope and Sam, who scarcely tasted 
food, or uttered a syllable, the young lady talk¬ 
ing incessautly all the time abo'ut horses, dogs, 
fire-arms, her own wonderful feats, and what 
she would do when she became her own mis- 
sob and laugh. 
“Calm yourself, pray, miss,” replied Mrs. 
Scrope with severity—she did not care about 
keeping terms now the chance has gone; “ calm 
yourself, pray. My son’s mind is quite made 
up ; and, allow me to say, that the sooner you 
return to the protection of Miss Pamela Gordon 
the better, as wo part.icuhu\ly desire a quiet 
house, now my poor son is so ill—an illness, 
tress,) Ellie took out a cigar-case and handed P liss > entirely brought on by your extremely 
it to Sam, inquiring- indifferently: improper and indelicate proceedings.” 
“Do vou smoke?” “ ^ H tell Aunt Pam!” whimpered the voung 
Too much astonished and embarrassed to ifp"' 1 <)llt hcr ca pfflnc handkerchief.— 
sp* looW 
who, with grave looks, answered for her son: 1 ” J 
“No Miss; Sam doesn’t smoke, and allow 
me to say, it is remarkable to see a lady carry- 
now I’ve come, you send me off again, just be 
cause cousin Sam don’t like ray green specs.” 
mg and offering such things as those; 
“La! ma’am: Aunt Pamela said to me: don’t 
forget your cigar case, Ellie,” replied the guest 
with simplicity; “and so you see I didn’t for¬ 
get it.” 
“ 1 don’t allow any smoking on my premises. 
Miss, said Mrs. Scrope, authoritatively. 
“ V\ ell, well, ma’am, don’t put yourself in a 
passion,” rejoined Ellie, sweetly; “I’ll wait till _, __ yuui JVillIULUJl] .. 
they ie mine, and then see it I don’t smoke you I sobbed the young lady, with her handkerchief 
out! I la, ha, ha! But perhaps Cousin Sam ! at her face. “I’m very badly used—that I am; 
is a snuff-taker "—handing to the wretened i auci 1 cannot face Aunt Pamela, and tell her all 
Sam an unique gold box full of “Prince’s mix-' this - She’ll never believe it, unless cousin Sam 
ture.” 
No, miss; you well know that is not the rea¬ 
son why my son rejects the honor of your al¬ 
liance,” responded Mrs. Scrope, bridling up and 
getting very red in the face; « and if you had 
ten thousand times forty thousand pounds in 
your hand to offer him for marrying you, he’d 
refuse the bribe, miss.” Mrs. Scrope spoke very 
loud. “ My son, Samuel Scrope, will never 
marry, for the sake of lucre only, a smoking, 
snuffing, horse-whipping, dog-baiting”- 
Go on, ma’am—go on with your peroration,’ 
HEAUTY OF JEWESSES. 
Ir is related that Chateaubriand, on return¬ 
ing from his eastern travels, was asked if he 
could assign a reason why the women of the 
Jewish race were so much handsomer than the 
men, when he gave the following one:—“Jew¬ 
esses have escaped the curse which alighted 
upon their fathers, husbands, and sons. Not a 
Jewess was to be seen among the crowd of 
priests and rabble who insulted the Son ofGod, 
scourged Him, crowned Him with thorns, and j 
subjected Him to infamy and the agony of the j 
cross. The women of Judea believed in the 
Savior, and assisted and soothed Him wider 
affliction. A woman of Bethany poured on 
his head precious ointment, which she kept in a 
vasi of alabaster. The sinner anointed his 
feet with perfumed oil, and wiped them with 
her hair. .. ' ‘ 
to 
the sot of the widow of Nain, and Martha’s 
brothel Lazarus. He cured Simon’s mother- 
in-law, aid the woman who touched the hem 
ol his gitiment. To the Samaritan woman he 
was a spiVigof living water, and a compassion¬ 
ate judge to the woman in aduletry. The 
daughters of Jerusalem wept over him; the ho¬ 
ly women accompanied him to Calvary, bought 
him balm andspices; and weeping, sought him 
in the sepulo*re. ‘ Woman, why weepest 
thou?’ His lint appearance after the resur¬ 
rection was to N ary Magdalene. He said to 
her ‘ Mary!’ At the sound of his voice, Marv 
Magdalene’s eyeswere opened, and she answer¬ 
ed, 'Master,’ Tht reflection of some beauti¬ 
ful ray must have jested on the brow of the 
Jewesses.” 
Tub world grows Wser, and it is hoped bet¬ 
ter with each succeeding generation. 
. ^j"°> H^s; my son does nothing of the 
kind,” replied Mrs. Scrope, she alone being the 
speaker; Sam’s heart was too full for speech; 
“ and allow me to remark that snuff-taking is 
another singular habit for a young lady.” 
“La, ma’am,” responded Ellie, smiling im- 
perturably—“Miss Pamela said to me:‘ don't 
forget your snufi box, Ellie:’ and so you see I 
didn t forget it. I'll teach Sam to snuff fa¬ 
mously when he’s my husband. Won’t we 
snuff and smoke, Sam? Are you fond of home 
brewed, Sam? You should see our groom 
drink it.” 
“ You’re a water drinker, I observe, Miss,” 
said Mrs. Scrope, stiffly, by way of saving some¬ 
thing. 
Elspeth looked very sly, and smacking her 
pretty lips, replied, “Ah! I ain't thirsty to-day, 
you should see me sometimes!” 
“ And this is the young lady of Miss Pame¬ 
la Gordon’s bringing up?” said Mrs. Scrope, ... , wwll „ llv 
\vlien she had retired tor the night, tears of I Miss, must plead for a mother’s want of time; 
exation. ready to start from her eyes: “ this is i so I bid you a very good morning, and wish you 
a wile lor my poor Sam. She’ll marry him per 
writes her a letter all in form, to say he won’t 
marry me. I can not Jell her myself, ma’am— 
indeed I cannot,” and Miss Ellie began to blub¬ 
ber violently. 
“Well, I’m sure if you’ll go away in peace, 
miss, ray son shall write the letter at once, and . „ . 
communicate, in formal terms, his rejection of | sufficiently matured to understand the just re- 
“Do nothing without advice, and when thou hast once 
done, repent not.”— ECCL. 
No parents who have taken a proper inter¬ 
est in the well-being of their children and 
society, can have failed to contemplate with 
concern, the prevalent tendency to too early 
marriages. When young people marry in the 
immaturity of youth, form hasty and inconsid¬ 
erate connections, how can any thing be ex¬ 
pected for them but disappointment? They 
form an alliance which should be terminated 
by death alone, before the mind has discovered 
what is really wanting to constitute its highest 
happiness. This tendency is clearly traceable 
in many instances, to parents themselves. It 
does appear to me that our children partake 
very much of the “spirit of the age,” in the 
rapidity with which they pass from babyhood, 
to the assumption of responsibilities belonging 
■ to men and women. We too often see a moth-! 
er, as much delighted with the attentions be- j 
j stowed on her child-daughter, as is the child 
| herself, who is not slow to discover the weak i 
j points in her mother’s character, and fortunate 
I indeed, il her own good sense prevents her 
; taking advantage of them, to her own injury. 
- In our daily walks we meet mere boys, who 
j ought “to tarry at Jericho till their beards 
) Lave grown,” gallanting the little misses, talking 
; nonsense’and feeding them with confectionery. 
I I heard a lady remark not long since, that “now- 
a-days, a fine horse and carriage, and a paper 
of lozenges, form the preliminaries of a court¬ 
ship.” 
I am aware that in cities particularly, it is 
very difficult to restrain children from assuming 
their own guidance, before the judgment is 
your hand,” interrupted Mrs. Scrope, only too 
glad to clear the house on any terms. 
“ I’ll go when you give me the letter—but 
won’t you let me see Sam?” said the green-spec¬ 
tacled damsel, in a wheedling tone, sidling up to 
Mrs. Scrope, with her comical velvet cap Vibra¬ 
ting from some inward emotion. “ Give my love 
to cousin, then ; and if I may not see him, tell 
quirements of social life. Yet they should, as 
far as parental authority can be properly exer¬ 
cised, be prevented from mingling too freely in 
each other’s society. In the first flush of im¬ 
agined maturity, what more natural, than that 
they should fall in love? or in Dr. Johnson 1 
lull confidence. The daughter may rest as¬ 
sured, the judicious mother will never advise to 
any course which is not consistent with her 
duty and well-being-—the mother will endeavor 
with unselfish kindness, to hide her little abe- 
rations, and enter with feeling into all her little 
plans for enjoyment. Young people often 
withhold their confidence, from a fear that their 
parents will sneer at their childishness and folly. 
Their hopes and disappointments, pleasures and 
pains, are matters of much moment to them; 
they arc in fact, “ the stuff their young lives 
are made of,” and exert a powerful influence on 
their future. 
A young person of your own sex, and nearly 
of the same age, is rarely found to be a safe 
depository for love secrets. There are so many 
trifling interests, for each one to consult on his 
or her own account, that disinterested friend¬ 
ship is a rare virtue. I would by no means en¬ 
courage suspicion, but would recommend the 
advice of Burns to his young friend: 
“ Ay free, aff han’ your story tell. 
When wi’ a bosom crony; 
But still keep something to yoursel 
Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel a weel’s ye can 
Frae critical dissection; 
But keek thro’ ev’ry other man, 
Wi’ sharpened slee inspection.” 
It is a very important matter in a family of 
brothers and sisters, to submit in many cases 
to the judgment of each other, in regard to 
associates. Young men, by their position in 
life, have many opportunities of learning the 
habits and pursuits of their own sex, that fe¬ 
males cannot command. No girl should ven¬ 
ture to receive attentions from one whom her 
brother had seen to frequent any of those places 
kept purposely for the gratification of pervert¬ 
ed appetite, even though the place be so aris¬ 
tocratic that the prices of its viands, cigars, 
and wines, exclude the poorer class, who indulge 
the same tastes on cheaper materials. No right 
minded brother could see his sister exposed to 
the blandishments of a vicious man, without 
warning her of her danger. There is some¬ 
thing so beautiful in the confiding love of a 
sister, that my heart always war ms toward 
those who evince it. 
On the other hand, a sister can nmch more 
easily ascertain the real character, tastes and 
habits of her own sex, than the lover. In fact, 
it is rare that a young couple understand each 
other’s characters till after marriage. I think 
it would be well for parents to mingle more 
with their children in company. Under proper 
regulations, it is decidedly advantageous for the 
sexes to associate. I have known young girls 
to receive the attentions of gentlemen for 
months, under the same roof with the parents, 
without their ever seeing him. This is cert ainly 
a culpable indifference on the part of the pa¬ 
rents, who should require an introduction of 
the suitor, and become acquainted with him, 
that the daughter may have the benefit of their 
judgment and penetration. 
Only a few days since, I was reading in a 
hair. Christ, on his part, extended mircy j pounds at stake. What could Mr. Whitehead ! ,iavc fine health ant J spirits, and may be able to 
> the Jewesses. He raised from the dead ! mean by making such a will?—and knowing! )“ ana ? e ,ber l^but mimi. I shan’t be in the least 
this odious Miss, too!” 
. * -per 
force; 1 see she will, she’s so desperately in love 
with him already. They say opposites often 
fbney each other in this way; but if she had a 
million instead ol only forty thousand pounds, 
she’d never do for Sam. I see her eyes spar¬ 
kle through those green glasses; she'll smoke 
me out—0, to be sure!” 
Mrs. Scrope, in the habit of thinking aloud, 
did not remark that her maid Martha loitered 
in the room, as it desirous ol speaking out 
something which burdened her mind; and un¬ 
able to keep it any longer, the handmaid broke 
out with: — Oh, Missis, ’xcuse me, but Tom, 
Miss Gordon’s groom, as come with her, says— 
at least he hints, which is much the same— 
, f J iat Miss Ellie won’t never do for Master 
i Samuel. She’s a regular lass of spirit, he says, 
j and he means more than he says. And he 
says outright, with such a broad grin on his 
red lace, that if Miss Ellie ever marries Master 
Sam, she 11 horsewhip him to a dead certainty, 
and turn the old cue out ot doors. Yes ma'am, 
she calls you ‘ the old one. ” 
“Alas!’ thought Mrs. Scrope, as she laid her 
head that night on a restless pillow, “ what is 
to be done?” There is near forty thousand 
sister to him in j language, “exchange glances, reciprocate civil- 1 newspaper, an account of the miserable end of 
“Indeed, I’ll tell him no such thing”Miss » ! itie * g ° home md dr9am of one anot her, find | * female who persevered in receiving 
said Mrs. Scrope with asperity, “ he’d rather not themselves uneasy when apart, and therefore ‘ the attentions of a man to whom her father ob- 
have you in either character. "You’ve half killed S conclude they shall be hannv toe-ether ” Thev i j ecte <L because he believed him to be a dis- 
Uim • nnri Ilio A_1_J_ ! , , rrv 0 ■ J I 1 , , .. , 
marry, and when too late, they find each other ’ honest man. She believed the professions of 
destitute of those qualities, on which alone a; the lover, who promised immediate marriage, 
permanent affection can be founded—too late, I and persuaded her to elope with him. When- 
“Regret, unchecked by hope, devours his mind, ! ever she reminded him of the marriage cere- 
He feels unhappy, and he grows unkind.” 
Cowper has furnished a vivid picture of the 
heart, if he refuses me for a wife. 
him ; atid the mischief your two dogs have done 
is incalculable. You shall have the letter in 
half an hour ; so please be in readiness for de¬ 
parture, Miss, if it quite suits your convenience. 
Excuse my want of ceremony” but a sick house. 
a very pleasant journey. Miss, and pray present 
my compliments and Sam’s compliments to Miss 
Pamela Gordon.” As the incensed lady hurried 
out of the room, and up stairs to her son’s 
apartments, what a wild elfin laugh rang in her 
ears! What could it be ? It was doubtless 
the Jezebel in hysterics; and Mrs. Scrope has¬ 
tened her steps. 
Mounted on Yixen, prancing and curvettino- 
down the avenue, and attended by Tom, with 
Juno and Peto bounding and frisking for joy. 
Miss Elspeth Gordon, provided with the letter, 
turned her head and waved an adieu to Scrope 
Hall 1 and as the little cavalcade receded in the 
distance, again the same clear laugh floated past 
on the mdWiing breeze. 
It was not verv long after these events, when 
Sirs. Scrope—who had never ceased to lament 
the loss ot Mr. Whitehead’s fortune, even going 
the great length of upbraiding Sam for having 
been too premature in rejecting the young lady, 
was informed by her elder son in person, of liis 
approaching marriage with Miss Elspeth Gor¬ 
don. Mrs. Scrope was, of course, delighted to 
hear that the money, after all, was not going out 
of the family ; but" concluded her remarks by 
saying— 
“Well Frank, I’m sure I wish you joy of 
your bargain ; forty thousand pounds is not to 
oe sneezed at, as I told Sam. However, you 
mony, he put her off till at length he grew tired 
of her, and his character was seen in all its de- 
For one whole week did Miss Elspeth Gor¬ 
don turn Scrope Hall completely topsy-turvey; 
never was such a din and racket heard; the 
servants grinned, and ran hither and thither, 
and Mrs. Scrope was nearly out of her mind 
with fright and vexation. Miss Elspeth also 
made such desperate love to Sam, that Sam, 
flattered and bewildered, and inveigled out on i 
a w’et day to walk with the Amazon through 
the woods, and following her steps through 
brake and brier, fairly stuck in a dismal swamp, 
got soaked to the skin, and took to his bed at 
once, putting his nose out of the blankets only 
to ask “if that Jezebel had gone?” 
“ Ho, my dear,” said liis anxious mother, 
“ your Cousin Elspeth is not gone yet; she i 
wants to see you.” 
“ To see me?” cried Sam. “ What! would she ! 
follow me even into my sick chamber, the impu- i 
dent hussy l I’ll never see her again, mother; 
astoimshed, to hear- that your bride has horse¬ 
whipped you before the honeymoon is over.” 
“ Never mind, mother,” cried Frank, gaily 
laughing, “ if she horsewhips me, I’ll flog her 
soundly, I promise you. I hope you’ll come 
and see us soon, and bring Sam with you. I’ll 
promise that Ellie shall behave herself.” 
To Mrs. Scrope’s dying day she never could 
comprehend by what, means her son Frank 
Eardley had wrought so wonderful a change in 
his w r ife; and even Sam, who always remained 
a bachelor, was heard to declare, that if he could 
meet with an exact counterpart of Frank’s wife, 
he too would marry. 
“ But who could guess,” said Sam,«that mat¬ 
rimony would transform a mad woman, in odi¬ 
ous green spectacles and a sugar-loaf cap, into 
a mild, pretty, kind creature, who never laughs 
at a fellow because he’s got a cold or a face- 
ache ?” 
day, contrary to the advice of more experienced 
ones, immediately paired and built nests, he 
describes the disastrous effects of this precipi¬ 
tancy: 
“ But though the birds were thus in haste. 
The leaves came on not quite so last; 
And destiny, that sometimes bears 
An aspect stern on men’s affairs, 
Not altogether smiled on theirs. 
The wind,—of late breathed gently forth— 
Now shifted east, and east by north; 
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know. 
Could shelter them from rain or snow; 
Stepping into their nests, they paddled, 
Themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled: 
Soon, every father bird and mother 
Grew quarrelsome, and pecked each other, 
Parted without the least regret, 
Except that they had ever met, 
And learned in future to he wiser, 
Than to neglect a good adviser.” 
I do not quite like it, that the Poet should 
have represented that all the evils resulting 
from this false step, were traceable to the 
blandishments of a little female bird, 
“ With golden wings and satin poll.” 
However, we will let that pass, pocket the in¬ 
sult, and appropriate the moral. 
I think parents frequently commit an error, 
Genius is desirable, but application is indis 
pensablo to great excellence. 
evils resulting from early marriages, in his fable, ! formity, even by her, his too yielding dupe.— 
“Pairing time anticipated.” After relating ; She clung to him with a woman’s love, till he 
that the young birds, deceived by a beautiful! H e( L to escape from the offended laws of his 
country, leaving his poor victim, to a life of 
degradation, from which her heart revolted._ 
She committed suicide, rather than return to 
her heart-broken parents, or pursue the only 
course left her by the perfidy of her professed 
lover. This is but one of the many instances 
in which the most lamentable results have fol¬ 
lowed a disregard of parental advice. 
As a means of preventing boys and girls 
from becoming too familiar, would it not be 
well to have their little meetings under the eye 
ot the parents, who should unbend sufficiently 
to remove constraint? It would relieve many a 
little coterie from embarrassment, if the parents 
would join the circle and lead oft’ in some prop¬ 
er amusement, that does not involve the old 
fashioned kissing plays—the resort in many in¬ 
stances, from lack of more rational and less 
mischievous amusement. Happy is that parent 
who retains enough of youthful feeling to send 
his blood coursing through his veins while en¬ 
joying a hearty play with the children, who al¬ 
ways enjoy it all the better for having “father 
aud mother” engaged in it. Were this course 
to prevail more generally, it would, no doubt, 
in treating the fancies of their children as silly ^ ead to more confidential intercourse between 
vagaries, unworthy their attention; thus driving P aren ^ s au( ^ children, and consequently, there 
them to other and indifferent persons, for that j would be less improper, and too early marriages, 
sympathy which is so important to them. How 
many parents know less of their children’s con¬ 
duct than others, from the very fact, that the 
children do not confide to them their little 
plans and secrets,— the parents being in fact, 
almost the only ones from whom they wish to 
hide their acts. It is a matter of the first im¬ 
portance to a young girl, to have a sensible 
mother, who should be the sole recipient of her 
Woman’s Sphere. —Woman is by far the 
fittest judge of her own sphere. Not the in¬ 
dividual, but the aggregate of the sex; and 
what they claim as a whole, may be safely, aud 
ought to be justly awarded to them. There 
arc idiosyncrasies in the female mind as well as 
ni that of man, but those instances are not the 
true exponents of woman’s character. 
