adorning of which she had neglected the overrun by the weeds of vanity and pride; ask Him, as a humble, penitent and much erring child should ask of her God for light and strength, and be assured that you will receive all, aye, much more than you can ask or even think.' 'Fanny, I cannot pray-I, who have thought of prayer only as a church service a set of words for surpliced priest, or prating monk-how can I pray? 'Kneel now, and we will ask God to enlighten the mind you have so wilfully blinded,' and they knelt down, those two fair girls, and the elder poured forth a fervent prayer to the Almighty for His blessing upon her high-souled but erring sister, who was bowing in humility before Him. As they arose from that short yet acthe eyes of Fanny, and deep, bursting ceptable service,tears were beaming from sobs came from the humbled one beside her, whose heart had seldom kindled with 'If, my dear Annie, he has loved you religious emotion. Thus how often is alone for your external charms, he is un- proved the fact that sickness and bereaveworthy a moment's nought. If he has ment are blessings in disguise; that amid sought you for a companion through life, their hours of sternest trial, when to mormerely because your countenance was tal view there is nought around but the fair, and your form graceful, his love is blackness of darkness, there is unfolded little worth;-but no! George is gifted to the spiritual eye a star of hope that with a noble intellect, a mind richly en- leads the troubled one to the pure foundowed with Heaven's best gifts-and if tains of celestial light-that pierces the he before sought you as one seeks a beau- dark clouds of affliction, and unfolds tiful painting, a perfect sculpture, a love- bright visions of glory prepared for those ly flower, or a gilded butterfly-now, An- who 'by patient continuance in well donie, now that the goodness of God has ing' have gained the Christian's crown, raised you from the bed of sickness, let and anchored their hopes in the spirithim prize you for the beautiful super-land. So it was with our erring Annie. structure within for a glorious life springing up within your own heart, which when known, would sink all outward graces, however dazzling, to insignificance. And, Annie, if I mistake him not, better, much better, would he love you as the intellectual, rational, pious, thinking being, than he ever has as the merely beautiful toy, to amuse while thus gay and beautiful, but when age or the world's realities might dim, to be a mere useless cumberer, without pleasure on earth, or a hope for eternity.' Earnestly did she strive for the evidence of a new life within-and day by day were her exertions repaid by that holy calm which was fast filling her heart,while the bitter ranklings of envy, the strivings for superiority, were fast fading away. Much, very much was she aided by her elder sister. Together they turned the book, whose pages are bright with the promises of love and forgiveness to the penitent, and from thence did Annie draw sweet hope; there did she find encouragement, and as she perused the touching words and acts of him who died that the sinful might live, her soul was melted in contrition, and she arose from such reading with firm purpose to follow (with divine assistance) His glorious example; to assimilate herself as she best might, to his purity and goodness. The months passed by, and at the expected time George Stanley arrived, ig norant of the change that time and sickness had wrought upon her whose image was entwined about his heart, as the object of his day-dreams, the star of happiness and hope to light him o'er life's troubled paths. Bitter was the trial to Annie. Dark thoughts of disappointed pride, of mortification, caused by lost beauty, came again and again rushing up in vivid remembrance, and threatening the destruction of her newly formed virtue; but steadfastly did she repel them, and earnestly did she pray that her mind might be strengthened against them that such thoughts of envious repining and discontent might not find a lurking place within the heart so lately filled with unholy and sensual feelings, but which, by being so skilfully probed, was fast regaining its original purity. The morning that broughtGeorge Stanley again to visit his Annie, found the two sisters seated in their sitting-room; Fanny, as usual, plying her needle; Annie, not yet perfectly restored, yet far advanced in a state of convalescence, perusing with much attention a book,which evidently excited deep emotion, as the pale cheek occasionally flushed, the eye filled with tears, and a slight tremor agitated the lip. As the sound of carriage wheels was heard, quickly followed by the well known foot-fall in the hall below, the stricken Annie, paled to the colorless hue of marble, caught a veil which lay on the ottaman beside her, and placed it with almost convulsive motion about her head, purposing to shield the poor wreck of beauty, he had so prized; but again, as often before, did Fanny (ever her good angel) interpose, and gently yet firmly taking the veil from her-Annie,' said she, do not forget the high resolves, the virtuous attainments, the pure principles which you have cherished. Hide not this faded form, and should George prove at this meeting that he worshipped at beauty's shrine, cast him off as unworthy a woman's love.' || || I 'Annie-thought you thus hardly of me? Did you think that I valued you alone for external graces-for that which is as fleeting as the dew-drop upon the opening rose, fading with the first sunbeam? Listen to me, my own Annie,' he continued, listen, and I will recount the feelings of my heart from the commencement of our acquaintance, since I, captivated by your bewitching beauty, your grace and elegance, knelt in homage among your train of admirers. gained your smile, aye, your love, and deemed myself blessed;-and well might I so deem-for you, the beautful, the gifted, the adored, to give your heart with its wealth of pure affections to me-well might I be happy. You remember the succeeding months, how I lived but in your smile,hung with something like idolatry upon your every look:-yet, Annie, well as I loved you,(and God knows it was most truly,) a shade has stolen over my hopes, when I have heard you boasting of petty rivalries in fashion and follyheard you speaking deridingly of your sister's fervent piety-when I have seen your lip curl with scorn at those less favored than yourself, and your flushed cheek and kindling eye denote that passion lurked beneath the beautiful exterior. I strove to forget that I heard or saw these, and persuaded myself that with your coming years, reason would show to you the danger of indulgence of unholy passions, and they would be cast forth as unworthy a home where dwelt the purest, holiest feelings of the heart. 1 left you for other lands, and parted with much of sorrow. I carried with me your image enshrined in my heart's deep cells, as its fondest idol. I mingled with the fashionable and gay, the wise and good. Be 260 Song.-Laura Bridgeman. ing a stranger, I naturally spent many of my leisure hours at the house of my old friend, Horace Stapleton. I mentioned to you then, in my letters, his amiable wife; but, Annie, did it occur to you that her goodness, her purity. her fervent picty, her high and holy integrity, caused me unwittingly to compare you, my own one, to her; that I trembled at the comparison; when I, devoted as I was to you, cast in the scale your beauty and graces, in the other her unassuming virtue, I was wretched. I returned, (shall I say it,) with fear and trembling, fearing for my own happiness when cast for eternity into the keeping of one whom I had heard sneer at the pious devotedness of her only sister, and speak idly of holy things; yet I hoped, for I loved most madly. You know what a change I found;-and often, often have I thanked God for the dark hours of disease, which, by robbing you of external beauty, adorned you in the more glorious and transcendant beauty of virtue.' But why did you not tell me all this,' said his wife, and tears fell fast over her crimsoned cheek-why did you not speak to me of what you wished and hoped.' 'I feared, Annic, lest you would cast me off in anger, and fondly, as I told you, I hoped that you would of yourself shake off the weight of pride, folly and vanity, which was clogging your nobler feelings. Thank you, Annie, that you so conquered.' 'Not me, thank not me ;-'twas Fanny, who turned me, when enfeebled health and blighted beauty was filling my heart with dark murmurings, to find a blessing springing out of my suffering. She led me to the shrine of Mercy, and in answer to her prayers did my Heavenly Father give light to my path.' · We owe her much, very much-and she is reaping her reward in witnessing our increasing happiness.. And would that every one of the gilded butterflies, basking in Fashion's rays, might realize, as you have, how worthless is mere beauty, compared with the permanent happiness arising from the possession of holy, Christian virtue.' SONG. They never lov'd as thou and I, Who minister'd the moral, That aught which deepens love can lie In true love's lightest quarrel. They never knew how kindness grows Nor watch'd beside the heart's repose away, 'Twere sweet to kiss thy tears Thou never bad'st them flow.' When one the heart has raised to power LAURA BRIDGEMAN. The condition of this little girl, now about twelve years old, excites the deepest sympathy, and the progress of her education at the Perkins' Institution for the Blind, awakens the deepest interest. She is deaf, dumb, and blind, and is almost destitute of the power of smell, and has a very imperfect sense of taste. In the last Annual Report of Dr. Howe, we find the following interesting account of her mother's visit to her at the Asylum. During this year, and six months after she had left home, her mother came to visit her, and the scene of their meeting was an interesting one. The mother stood some time, gazing with overflowing eyes upon her unfortu nate child, who, all unconscious of her presence, was playing about the room.Presently Laura ran against her, and at once began feeling of her hands, examining her dress, and trying to find out if she knew her; but not succeeding here, she turned away as from a stranger, and the poor woman could not conceal the pang she felt that her beloved child did not know her. She then gave Laura a string of beads which she used to wear at home, which were recognized by the child at once, who, with much joy, put them around her neck, and sought me eagerly, to say she understood the string was from her home. The mother now tried to caress her; but poor Laura repelled her, preferring to be with her acquaintances. Another article from home was now given her, and she began to look much interested; she examined the stranger much closer, and gave me to understand that she knew she came from Hanover; she even endured her earesses, but would leave her with indifference at the slightest signal. The distress of the mother Variety-Soul Masses.-Stitchery.-Richard Cecil. 261 was now painful to behold; for, although || thus she stood for a moment,-then she she had feared that she should not be dropped her mother's hand,-put her recognized, the painful reality of being handkerchief to her eyes, and turning treated with cold indifference by a dar- round, clung sobbing to the matron, while ling child, was too much for woman's na- her mother departed, with emotions as ture to bear. deep as those of her child.' After a while, on the mother taking hold of her again, a vague idea seemed to flit across Laura's mind, that this could not be a stranger; she therefore felt of her hands very eagerly, while her countenance assumed an expression of intense interest-she became very pale, and then suddenly red-hope seemed struggling with doubt and anxiety, and never were contending emotions more strongly paint ed upon the human face. At this noment of painful uncertainty, the mother drew her close to her side, and kissed her fondly, when at once the truth flashed upon the child, and all mistrust and anxiety disappeared from her flushed face, as, with an expression of exceeding joy, she eagerly nestled in the bosom of her parent, and yielded herself to her fond embraces. After this, the beads were all unheedSTITCHERY.-There is variety enough ed; the playthings which were offered to her were utterly disregarded; her play-tions enough in the stitches to descend to satisfy anybody, and there are grada mates, for whom but a moment before she gladly left the stranger, now vainly strove to pull her from her mother; and though she yielded her usual instantaneous obedience to my signal to follow me, it was evidently with great reluctance. She clung close to me, as if bewildered and fearful; and when, after a moment, I took her to her mother, she sprang to her arins, and clung to her with eager joy. I had watched the whole scene with intense interest, being desirous of learning from it all I could of the workings of her mind; but I now left them to indulge unobserved those delicious feelings, which those who have known a mother's love may conceive, but which cannot be expressed. The subsequent parting between Lanra and her mother, showed alike the affection, the intelligence, and the resolution of the child; and was thus noticed at the time :- 'Laura accompanied her mother to the door, clinging close to her all the way, until they arrived at the threshold, where she paused and felt around, to ascertain who was near her. Perceiving the matron, of whom she is very fond, she grasp ed her with one hand, holding on convulsively to her mother with the other, and to any capacity but a man's. There are tambour stitch, satin, chain, finny, new, bred, ferne, and queen-stitches; there is slabbing, veining, and button stitch; seeding, roping, and open stitch; there is socksean, herring-bone, long-stitch, and cross stitch; there is rosemary stitch, Spanish stitch, and Irish stich; there is back stitch, overcast, and seam stitch; hemming, felling, and basting; darning, grafting and patching; there is whip stitch, and fisher stitch; there is fine drawing, gathering, marking, trimming, and tucking.-The Art of Needlework, by the Countess of Wilton. Richard Cecil made the following ob. servation, before his mind was influenced by religion-I see two unquestionable facts. 1. My mother is greatly afflicted in circumstances, body and mind, and yet she cheerfully bears up under all, by the support she derives from constantly retiring to her closet, and to her Bible. 2. My mother has a secret spring of comfort, of which I know nothing; while I, who give an unbounded loose to my appetites,and seek pleasure by every means, seldom or never find it. If however there is any such secret in religion, why may I not attain it as well as my mother? I will immediately seek it from God.' 262 Variety-Miss Wilberforce, &c.-Editorial. Miss Wilberforce.-When Mr Wilber- || nied spoke in the highest terms of her force was chosen member for York, his courage, perseverance and presence of daughter, in walking home from the mind, and the cheerfulness with which scene of the election, was cheered by an she encouraged them, chatting and jokimmense crowd, who followed her to her ing with them during the entire of the own door, crying, 'Miss Wilberforce for ascent. Previously to this successful ever! Miss Wilberforce for ever! The trip, the feat had been accomplished only young lady turned as she was ascending by one female, a peasant of Chamouni, the stair, and, motioning to the populace who, on reaching the grand plateau, beto be quiet, said, very emphatically, Nay, came exhausted with fatigue, and was gentlemen, if you please, not Miss Wil- carried by force to the summit. Madeberforce forever; which sent them all moiselle Dangeville, on her return to the home in good humor. Chamouni on the morning of the 5th, was received with the utmost enthusiasin by the inhabitants, who proceeded to meet her, and fired salutes of cannon in honor of the exploit.--London paper. A Consent.-A girl was forced into a disagreeable match with an old man whom she detested. When the clergyman came to that part of the service where the bride is asked if she consents to take Though we seem grieved at the shortthe bridegroom for her husband, she said,ness of life in general, we are wishing with great simplicity, 'O dear, no sir; every period of it at an end. The minor but you are the first person who has ask-longs to be of age; then to be a man of ed my opinion about the matter.' The Ruff in Queen Elizabeth's time.It is stated in a modern popular work, that the most distinguishing characteristic of the costume, in Queen Elizabeth's day, was the ruff. It was worn of such enormous size that a lady in full dress was obliged to feed herself with a spoon two feet long! These ruffs increased at such an alarming rate, that in 1580, statuary laws became necessary to reduce them to reasonable dimensions. When these ruffs were first introduced they were of fine Holland; but early in Elizabeth's reign, they were made of lawn and cambric, manufactured on the continent, and imported in very small quantities, and sold at an extravagant price. A writer of that day, describing this lawn, says, 'So strange and wonderful was this stuff, that thereupon arose a general scoff or by-word, that shortly they would wear ruffs of a spider's web.' business; then to make up an estate; then to arrive at honors; then to retire.-Spec tator. A Boston editor states, that of every thousand females who die of consumption, more than three-fourths are sacrificed by the prevailing false ideas of beauty of form, produced by the continued practice of tight lacing. Editorial. MEEKNESS. Meekness is a rare virtue. Very few possess it, for very few are willing to study the art of obtaining it. Yet, there is no virtue more admired, more useful, more redolent of good, than this. It breathes peace, good will and quietness, like the soft, aromatic gales of Araby, over the wilderness of human passion: it scatters roses, like another Flora, in the broad paths of human life, and, with the potency of an Omnipotent command, it hushes the storms that agitate the excited breasts of disorder ed manhood. A Courageous Lady.-A French lady, named Dangeville, said to be a sister of the Deputy for the Department of the Ain, ascended to the summit of Mont Blanc on the 5th Aug. She quitted the True, the proud, the aspiring, and the valley of Chamouni on the 3d, at an early ambitious, sneer and cry, mean-spirited hour in the morning, slept at the Grand wretch,'when meekness suffers, with quiet Mulets, and reached her perilous destina-submission, the inflictions of haughtiness tion at twelve o'clock on the 4th inst. She remained on the summit of the mountain for about an hour, wrote some notes, and drank a health to the Count de Paris. The guides by whom she was accompa and anger; true, the giddy mass may pronounce meekness to be folly, but the sober, second thought' of mankind awards a just tribute to its worth. |