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LESSON II.

Education of Females.-STORY.

hristianity may be said to have given a permanent n to woman, as an intellectual and moral being, it is that the present age, above all others, has given play enius, and taught us to reverence its influence. It fashion of other times, to treat the literary acquireof the sex as starched pedantry, or vain pretension; atize them as inconsistent with those domestic affecd virtues, which constitute the charm of society. We undant homilies read upon their amiable weaknesses timental delicacy, upon their timid gentleness and ive dependence; as if to taste the fruit of knowledge deadly sin, and ignorance were the sole guardian of ce. Their whole lives were "sicklied o'er with the t of thought;" and concealment of intellectual power n resorted to, to escape the dangerous imputation of me strength.

⇒ higher walks of life, the satirist was not without the suggestion, that it was

"A youth of folly, an old age of cards;"

, elsewhere, "most women had no character at all," that of purity and devotion to their families. Adas are these qualities, it seemed an abuse of the gifts dence, to deny to mothers the power of instructing ildren, to wives the privilege of sharing the intellecsuits of their husbands, to sisters and daughters the of ministering knowledge in the fireside circle, to nd beauty the charm of refined sense, to age and the consolation of studies, which elevate the soul, Iden the listless hours of despondency.

things have, in a great measure, passed away. The es, which dishonored the sex, have yielded to the e of truth. By slow but sure advances, education ended itself through all ranks of female society. s no longer any dread lest the culture of science

should foster that masculine boldness or restless independence, which alarms by its sallies, or wounds by its inconsistencies. We have seen that here, as every where else, knowledge is favorable to human virtue and human happiness; that the refinement of literature adds lustre to the devotion of piety; that true learning, like true taste, is modest and unostentatious; that grace of manners receives a higher polish from the discipline of the schools; that cultivated genius sheds a cheering light over domestic duties, and its very sparkles, like those of the diamond, attest at once its power and its purity.

There is not a rank of female society, however high, which does not now pay homage to literature, or that would not blush even at the suspicion of that ignorance, which, a half century ago, was neither uncommon nor discreditable. There is not a parent, whose pride may not glow at the thought, that his daughter's happiness is, in a great measure, within her own command, whether she keeps the cool, sequestered vale of life, or visits the busy walks of fashion.

A new path is thus opened for female exertion, to alleviate the pressure of misfortune, without any supposed sacrifice of dignity or modesty. Man no longer aspires to an exclusive dominion in authorship. He has rivals or allies in almost every department of knowledge; and they are to be found among those, whose elegance of manners and blamelessness of life command his respect, as much as their talents excite his admiration.

LESSON III.

Breathings of Spring.-MRS. HEMANS.

WHAT wak'st thou, Spring?-Sweet voices in the woods,
And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute;
'Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes,

The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute,
Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee,
Even as our hearts may be.

e leaves greet thee, Spring!-the joyous leaves,
se tremblings gladden many a copse and glade,
each young spray a rosy flush receives,

n thy south wind hath pierced the whispery shade,
ppy murmurs, running through the grass,
Tell that thy footsteps pass.

e bright waters-they, too, hear thy call,
g, the awakener! thou hast burst their sleep!
the hollows of the rocks their fall

es melody, and in the forests deep,
sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray
Their windings to the day.

vers-the fairy-peopled world of flowers! from the dust hast set that glory free, the cowslip with the sunny hours, penciling the wood-anemone :

ey seem; yet each to thoughtful eye Glows with mute poesy.

t awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring-
uman heart, with all its dreams and sighs?
at giv'st back so many a buried thing,
rer of forgotten harmonies!

ngs and scents break forth where'er thou art:
What wak'st thou in the heart?

ch, oh! there too much!—we know not well
efore it should be thus, yet, roused by thee,
d, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell,
for the faces we no more may see!

we haunted, in thy wind's low tone, y voices that are gone!

' familiar love, that never more,
on earth, our aching eyes shall meet,
ds of welcome to our household door,
anished smiles, and sounds of parted feet-
midst the murmurs of thy flowering trees,
hy, why reviv'st thou these!

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Vain longings for the dead!—why come they back
With thy young birds, and leaves, and living blooms?
Oh! is it not, that from thine earthly track

Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs?
Yes, gentle Spring; no sorrow dims thine air,
Breathed by our loved ones there!

LESSON IV.

The Winged Worshippers.-C. SPRAGUE.

[Addressed to two Swallows, that flew into Church during Divine Service.]

GAY, guiltless pair,

What seek ye from the fields of heaven?

Ye have no need of prayer,

Ye have no sins to be forgiven.

Why perch ye here,

Where mortals to their Maker bend?

Can your pure spirits fear

The God ye never could offend?

Ye never knew

The crimes for which we come to weep:
Penance is not for you,
Blessed wanderers of the upper deep.

To you 'tis given

To wake sweet nature's untaught lays;
Beneath the arch of heaven

To chirp away a life of praise.

Then spread each wing,

Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands,
And join the choirs that sing

In yon blue dome not reared with hands.

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[AIL, Memory, hail! In thy exhaustless mine, m age to age, unnumbered treasures shine! ought, and her shadowy brood, thy call obey, 1 Place and Time are subject to thy sway! pleasures most we feel when most alone,— only pleasures we can call our own. nter than air, Hope's summer-visions die, ut a fleeting cloud obscure the sky; ut a beam of sober Reason play, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away. can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power, ch the rich relics of a well-spent hour? se, when the trembling spirit wings her flight, round her path a stream of living light, gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, ere Virtue triumphs, and her sons are blessed.

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