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like human dissolution) now drop their leafy honours; some you may observe, like feeble old age, hang tottering in the air, till a gentle breeze breaks the tender fibre that supports them, and throws them relentless on the ground; they fall unlamented, when they can no longer delight our eyes; and are no sooner dissolved than forgotten: one summer's beauty is all they can pretend to, whilst the lofty fir, though greatly eclipsed by these gay strangers in the bloom of their youth, yet far exceeds them in the duration of her charıns; her beauties are always the same, and perish only with her existence.

A lively emblem this of the instability and worthlessness of all mortal charms; how mutable is the happiness of those thoughtless women, who place all their felicity in admiration! Admiration from whom ? not from the wise and prudent--that were well worth their aim; but from persons light and trifling as themselves, for such alone pay court to polished dust. Perhaps, they pass the bloom of their youth without one serious thought; and what a fund of inpertinence do they then treasure up for the remainder of their days! which, when all these gay fantastic visions fade," when every outward charm is fled,” grows quite insupportable. How can they bear the shock of approaching age, which (like autumn by the trees) disrobes them of every attractive grace?

The perfections we are by the flattering world allowed, whilst we have beauty, too often (at least the praise of them) vanish with it, and leave nothing but malice and envy to fill up the great void of uncultivated sense; they drop like the withered leaves, neglected, if not despised; and, like the path of a swift arrow through the invisible air, leave no traces of virtue and goodness, whereby they may be remembered. How much happier they, who, in the midst of their puerile and innocent amuseinents, experience the effect of a true parental care; 'who are taught “ to remember their Creator in the days of their youth, while the evil days come not, and the years draw nigh, wherein they shall (truly) say—I have no pleasure in them;' and are easily informed, before the trifling joys of this vain world have made too deep an impression on their tender minds, “ that all is vanity!"

Religion, wisdom, and yirtue, are the only permanent enjoyments in this world, and will be our only consolation when we are on the brink of another; beauty is no farther of advantage to us, than it is an embellishinent to sense, and makes virtue appear, if possible, more amiable; but when it is a mask to vice, or folly; when it persuades the owner to neglect the attainment of all other accomplishments, the blessing then degenerates into a curse, and we quickly despise the idle flatterer ; in short, “ the praise that is worth seeking after, is attained by solid sense and digoity of mind;" and a truly sensible woman will be always ambitious—not merely of gaining admiration, but deserving it.



1. PITY the miseries of a wretched maid,

Who sacrific'd to man her health and fame;
Whose love and truth, and trust, were all repaid
By want and woe, disease, and endless shaine.

Curse not the poor lost wretch, who ev'ry ill

That proud insulting man can heap, sustains;
Sure she enough is curs' o'er whom his will,
Enflam'd by brutal passion, boundless reigns.

Spurn not my fainting body from your door,

Here let me rest my weary, weeping head;
No greater mercy would my wants implore,
My sorrows soon shall lay me with the dead.

Who now beholds, but loathes my faded face?

So wan and sallow--chang'd with sin and care;
Or who can any former beauty trace,

In eyes so sunk with famine and despair !


That I was virtuous once, and beauteous too,

And free from envious tongues my spotless fame,
These but torment, these but my tears renew,
These aggravate my present guilt and shame.

Houseless and hungry, forc'd by pining want,

I've wept and wander'd many a midnight hour;
Implor'd a pittance lust would seldom grant,

Or sought a shelter from the driving show'r.

And as I sbiver'd through the wintry storm,

Unknowing what to seek, or where to stray !
To gain relief entic'd each hideous form,
Each hideous form contemptuous turn'd away.

Where are my virgin honours, virgin charms ?

Oh! whither fled the pride I once maintain'd?
Where are the youths that woo'd me to their arms
Or where the triumphs virgin beauty gain'd?

Declare, betrayer; cruel monster ! where!

Proclaim thy glories gain'd by my defeat !
Say, art thou happier 'cause that I'm less fair?

Or bloom thy laurels on my winding sheet?


A TAILOR some time ago, who was dangerously ill, had a remarkable dream. He thought he saw, Huttering in the air, a piece of cloth, of a prodigious length, composed of all the cabbage which he had made, ever since he had been in business. The angel of death held this piece of patchwork in one of his hands, and with the other gave the tailor several severe strokes with a piece of iron. The tailor awakening in a fright, made a solemn vow, that if he recovered, he would cubbage no more. He soon recovered. As he was diffident of himself, he ordered one of his apprentices to put him in mind of his dream, whenever he cut out a suit of clothes.

The tailor was for soine time obedient to the intimations given him by his apprentice. But a nobleman having sent for him to make him a coat out of a very rich stuff, his virtue could not resist the temptation. His apprentice put him in mind of his dream to no purpose : "I am quite tired with your talk about the dream," says the tailor; “there was nothing like this in the whole piece of patch-work, which I saw in my dream ; and I observed likewise, that there was a piece deficient; that which I am now going to take will just make it complete.” His conscience, however, constantly reproved him, and his ever present dream disquieted his mind.


A YOUNG Parisian going a few years since to Amsterdam, was struck with the beauty of a country house which stood by the side of the canal down which he was sailing; for in Holland there is little else but water carriage. The Parisian addressed himself to a Dutchman, who sat beside him in the boat, and said, “ May I take the liberty, Sir, to ask whose house that is ?” The Dutchman replied, in his own language, Ik kan niet verstaan, Mynheer, which sigoifies, I do not understand you, Sir; but the young Frenchman, never imagining he was not understood, took this answer of the Dutchman to be the name of the proprietor. “Aha!” said he, “it belongs to Mr. Kaniferstan, does it ! Upon my word, Mr. Kaniferstan ought to think himself very agreeably off in such a house; the situation is charming, and the gardens delightful. I remember nothing more delicious; it is really superb; one of my friends has just such another on the banks of the Seine, though I absolutely think I should give this the preference,” with much more of the same kind, to which the Hollander answered not a word.

Being come to Amsterdam, he saw a very beautiful woman walking arm in arm with a gentleman upon the quay, and asked a passenger, “ Pray, Sir, who is that elegant lady?" The reply was, Ik kan niet verstaan. “Ho!” said he,"is she the wife of Mr. Kaniferstan, whose chateau I have seen upon the borders of the canal ? Upon my word, Mr. Kaniferstan is a very happy man : who would not envy him so fine a house and so charming a wife?"

Proceeding on a little farther, his attention was suddenly attracted by the beating of drums, and sounding of trampets, before the door of a man who had gained the higbest prize in the Dutch lottery for that year. The Parisian's curiosity was again awakened; he desired to know the name of the happy mortal, and again was answered, Ik kan niet verstaan. "Upon my word,” said he, “this is too much. What! Mr. Kaniferstan, who owns ibat delightful house, and is married to that beautiful lady, must he get the highest prize in the lottery too? It is really astonishing; and we must allow that some men have very singular good fortune in this world."

At last he met a funeral procession, and asked a by-stander who it was they were carrying to their last home with all that solemnity; Ik kan niet verstaan, once more was the reply; upon which, starting three paces back, the wondering Parisian exclaimed- Alas, Mr. Kaniferstan! Poor Mr. Kaniferstan! to die so suddenly, after having obtained so magnificent a chateau, so charming a wife, and the highest prize in the lottery! What a pity! I am certain he must be very loath to die; but indeed I thought his happiness was too great to last long." So passed he on to bis inn, moralizing and making reflections upon the mutability of all human affairs, and the untimely death of poor Mr. Kaniferstan.

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