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F he's capricious she'll be so;

But if his duties constant are, She lets her loving favor glow

As steady as a tropic star. Appears there naught for which to weep,

She'll weep for naught for his dear sake; She clasps her sister in her sleep;

Her love in dreams is most awake. Her soul, that once with pleasure shook

Did any eyes her beauty own, Now wonders how they dare to look

On what belongs to him alone. The indignity of taking gifts

Exhilarates her loving breast; A rapture of submission lifts

Her life into celestial rest.

There's nothing left of what she was,

Back to the habe the woman dies; And all the wisdom that she has

Is to love him for being wise. She's confident because she fears;

And, though discreet when he's away, If none but her dear despot hears,

She'll prattle like a child at play. Perchance, when all her praise is said,

He tells the news-a battle wonOn either side ten thousand dead,

Describing how the whole was done: She thinks, “He's looking on my face!

I am his joy; whate'er I do.
He sees such time-contenting grace

In that, he'd always have me so!”

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Advice to Young Men. ΤΑ: ASTE not of fish that have black tails ; that is, converse not with men that are smutted

with vicious qualities. Stride not over the beam of the scales; wherein is taught us the regard we ought to have for justice, so as not to go beyond its measures. Sit not on a chæ. nix; wherein sloth is forbidden, and we are required to take care to provide ourselves with the necessaries of life. Do not strike hands with every man; this means we ought not to be over-hasty to make acquaintance or friendship with others. Wear not a tight ring; that is, we are to labor after a free and independent way of living, and to submit to no fetters. not thy heart; which forbids to afflict our souls, and waste them with vexatious cares. Abstain from beans; that is, keep out of public offices, for anciently the choice of the officers of state was made by beans.Plutarch.

The Amusements of Youth.

those who are the enemies of innocent amusement had the direction of the world, they would take away the spring and youth,—the former from the year, the latter from human life. -Balzac,

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your betters; in books and life that is the most wholesome society; learn to admire rightly—the great pleasure of life is that. Note what the great specially admire; they admire great things: narrow spirits admire basely, and worship meanly.

-- Thackeray.

The Duties and Foys of Woman.

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The lofty uses and the noble ends,
The sanctified devotion and full work,
To which thou art elect forevermore,
First woman, wife and mother.

And first in sin.

And also the bearer of the seed Whereby sin dieth. Raise the majesties Of thy disconsolate brows, O well-beloved, And front with level eyelids the To Come, And all the dark o' the world. Rise, woman, rise To thy peculiar and best altitudes Of doing good and of enduring ill, – Of comforting for ill, and teaching good, And reconciling all that ill and good Unto the patience of a constant hope, — Rise with thy daughters! If sin came by thee, And by sin, death, -the ransom-righteousness,

The heavenly light and compensative rest,
Shall come by means of thee. Be satisfied;
Something thou hast to bear through womanhood,
Peculiar suffering answering to the sin, -
Some pang paid down for each new human life,
Some weariness in guarding such a life,
Some coldness from the guarded; some mistrust
From those thou hast too well served; from those be-

Too loyally, some treason; feebleness
Within thy heart, and cruelty without,
And pressures of an alien tyranny
With its dynastic reasons of larger bones
And stronger sinews. But, go to! Thy love
Shall chant itself its own beatitudes,
After its own life-working. A child's kiss
Set on thy sighing lips shall make thee glad;
A poor man served by thee, shall make thee rich;
A sick man helped by thee, shall make thee strong;



Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense
Of service which thou renderest.

I accept
For me and for my daughters this high part
Which lowly shall be counted. Noble work
Shall hold me in the place of garden rest,

And in the place of Eden's lost delight
Worthy endurance of permitted pain;
While on my longest patience there shall wait
Death's speechless angel, smiling in the east
Whence cometh the cold wind.

-Elizabeth B. Browning.

The Woman of To-day.


LITH Hebrew, Greek and Latin

She's acquainted more or less; And she's obviously pat in

All the modern languages,
She has read her Herbert Spencer,

Her Kant, and Schopenhauer,
And in logic she's a fencer

Of unquestionable power. She is full of keen suggestion,

Be the subject what it may, And on every social question

She has something apt to say. You may see her quick eye kindle

With a bright and vivid flame At the mention of a Tyndal

Or a Huxley's potent name. Scraps of learning she will dish up

With a skill that makes them live, She will argue with a Bishop,

Say on Church Prerogative.

With her own sex she will chance

In the proper time and place,
On some trivial household matter

With quaint and lively grace.
She instructs the untrained servant,

To perform his task with ease;
And if called on will wax fervent

Over infantile disease
She can cook and wash and mangle,

(Though perhaps she'd rather noti, Play tennis, ride, and angle,

And is quite a champion shot. From the public platform you will

Find her talking fact or myth, With the vigor of a Whewell,

Or the wit of Sydney Smith. 'Mongst mere minnows she's a Triton

Who will always have her way; She's an Admirable Crichton, 'Is the woman of to day.

-St. James Gazette.

The Changefulness of Woman.

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E watchful sprites, who make e'en man your care,

And sure more gladly hover o'er the fair, Who 'grave on adamant all changeless things, The smiles of courtiers and the frowns of kings! Say to what softer texture ye impart The quick resolves of woman's trusting heart; Joys of a moment, wishes of an hour, The short eternity of Passion's power, Breathed in vain oaths that pledge with generous zeal E'en more of fondness than they e'er shall feel, Light fieeting vows that never reach above, And all the guileless changefulness of love!

Is summer's leaf the record ? Does it last
Till withering autumn blot it with his blast?
Or, frailer still, to fade ere ocean's ebb,
'Graved on some filmy insect's thinnest web,
Some day-fly's wing that dies and ne'er has slepty
Lives the light vow scarce longer than 'tis kept?
Ah, call not perfidy her fickle choice!
Ah, find not falsehood in an angel's voice!
True to one word, and constant to one aim,
Let man's hard soul be stubborn as his frame;
But leave sweet woman's form and mind at will
To bend and vary, and be graceful still.

The Minstrel Girl.


GAIN ’twas evening-Agnes knelt,

Pale, passionless-a sainted one: On wasted cheek and pale brow dwelt

The last beams of the setting sun. Alone—the damp and cloistered wall

Was round her like a sepulcher;
And at the vesper's mournful call

Was bending every worshiper.
She knelt-her knee upon the stone,

Her thin hand veiled her tearful eye, As it were sin to gaze upon

The changes of the changeful sky. It seemed as if a sudden thought

Of her enthusiast moments came With the bland eve-and she had sought

To stifle in her heart the flame Of its awakened memory:

She felt she might not cherish, then, The raptures of a spirit, free

And passionate as hers had been, When its sole worship was, to look

With a delighted eye abroad; And read, as from an open book,

The written languages of God. How changed she kneels!-the vile, gray hood,

Where spring flowers twined with raven hair, And where the jeweled silk hath flowed,

Coarse veil and gloomy scapulaire And wherefore thus ? Was hers a soul,

Which, all unfit for nature's gladness, Could grasp the bigot's poisoned bowl,

And drain with joy its draughts of madness? Read ye the secret, who have nursed

In your own hearts intenser feelings. Which stole upon ye, at the first,

Like bland and musical revealings From some untrodden paradise,

Until her very soul was theirs; And from their maddening ecstacies

Ye woke to mournfulness and prayers. To weave a garland, will not let it witherWondering, I listen to the strain sublime, That flows, all freshly, down the stream of time, Wafted in grand simplicity along, The undying breath, the very soul of song.

- John Greenleaf Whittier,

The Female Convict.

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HE shrank from all, and her silent mood

Made her wish only for solitude. Her eye sought the ground as it could not brook For innermost shame, on another's to look, And the cheerings of comfort fell on her ear Like deadliest words, that were curses to hear:She still was young, and she had been fair; But weather stains, hunger, toil and care, That frost and fever that wear the heart, Had made the colors of youth depart From the sallow cheek, save over it came T'ne burning Rush of the spirit's shame.

She could not weep, and she could not pray,
But she wasted and withered from day to day,
Till you might have counted each sunken vein,
When her wrist was prest by the iron chain;
And sometimes I thought her large dark eye
Had the glisten of red insanity.
She called me once to her sleeping place,
A strange, wild look was upon her face,
Her eye flashed over her cheek so white,
Like a gravestone seen in the pale moonlight,
And she spoke in a low, unearthly tone-
The sound from mine ear hath never gono!—
“I had last night the loveliest dream:
My own land shone in the summer beam,
I saw the fields of the golden grain,
I heard the reaper's harvest strain,
There stood on the hills the green pine tree,
And the thrush and the lark sang merrily.

They were sailing over the salt sea foam,
Far from her country, far from her home;
And all she had left for her friends to keep
Was a name to hide, and a memory to weep!
And her future held forth but the felon's lot-
To live forsaken, to die forgot!

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